The BAU's Agent Hale: Daring to Begin (Installment One)
by LaceyoftheTypewriter
Summary: Hale has a history with the FBI: her father was an agent who went missing during one of his assignments, and she almost became an agent herself before she decided to go a different route. Several years later, a chance encounter with Aaron Hotchner has her sucked back into the FBI, and she learns more about the job...and even more about her past. OC. Pairings to be explored.
1. CHAPTER 1: An Interview (Hale)

The BAU's Agent Hale: Daring to Begin (Installment One)

RATED T: Violence, language, nongraphic sexual abuse/references, etc.

**"All glory comes from daring to begin."**  
**-Eugene F. Ware**

CHAPTER ONE: AN INTERVIEW (HALE)

I looked at my face in the mirror, trying to figure out if I looked presentable enough for my job interview. I didn't want to come off as careless, but I didn't want to look too uptight and bland, so I went for a business casual look. I was wearing nude stilettos and well fitted black business pants, with a billowy cream colored blouse and a gold watch. I tied my hair back in a loose ponytail and stuck some gold studs into my ears. I looked at myself for a moment, and then deemed the pants far too businesslike. I slipped out of them, and as I searched in my closet for a nice looking skirt I heard footsteps behind me.

I grinned as hands found their way onto my hips and I felt warm breath on my neck. "Underwear and stilettos? I don't think I can let you leave the apartment like this."

I turned around, taking my boyfriend's face in my hands. "You know, I think you're on to something. Maybe if I go to my interview in just this I'll be much more likely to get the job."

Jason smirked, a piece of brown hair falling into his eyes. "Now if you did that, I might have to handcuff you to the bed."

"Don't tempt me," I replied, and he leaned down to kiss me, wrapping his muscled arms around my waist and pushing me into my closet. I grinned and leaned into the kiss, and then I pushed him away. "Alright, Jason, c'mon, I've got a job interview."

"Uh-huh," he said, moving his lips to my neck and running his hands up and down my back, reaching under my shirt to stroke my skin.

"Seriously, Jay," I said, placing my hands softly on his chest. "Job interview. To help us pay rent?"

He didn't listen. He reached to unbutton my shirt, and I sighed. With a quick burst of energy, I pushed him away and said, "Jason, think straight for a moment for me, okay?"

He glanced at me, his eyes seemingly misted over. Then they cleared up. "You're right," he sighed. "You know what those damn shoes do to me."

"Maybe if you let me get dressed we wouldn't have to do this every time I have an interview."

He kissed my cheek and backed away. "Fine, fine. Go to your interview. Knock 'em dead."

"Will do," I said. "Now let me get dressed."

He pecked me on the cheek one more time and left the room. I quickly pulled out a knee length, A-line peach colored skirt and fastened it at my waist. I looked in the mirror again. Much more me, and therefore much better. I quickly retouched my soft pink lipstick, messed up by Jason, and grabbed my purse.

"I'm leaving!" I called to Jason as I got out of my room and headed towards the front door. "Wish me luck!"

"You won't need it!" he called back to me. I smiled and walked out to my car.

I probably looked like an idiot as I drove to the coffee shop where I was meeting my hopefully future boss. I was talking to myself, trying to practice how I introduced myself to the guy. People gave me funny looks at red lights, but I didn't care. By the time I arrived at the coffee shop, I felt ever so slightly more prepared.

I walked in the shop, realizing I was a good ten minutes early. I had seen the man, Chef Seth Mallard, before at his restaurant, where he had offered me the interview. I'd know him when I saw him. I figured I'd get a coffee to sip on while I was waiting. I stood in line behind a tall, suited man with dark hair. His voice was deep as he ordered a medium coffee, with two shots of espresso. I gave a small sound of appreciation, and when he looked over his shoulder, I tried to turn it into a cough.

"Is something about my order interesting?" he asked, his dark eyes seeming to take everything about me in.

I was curious about how keenly observant he seemed. It was almost as if he were profiling me, something I knew a thing or two about. "Nothing," I said after a moment of quick thinking. "I just get the same order."

"Oh," he said, looking equally perceptive as he had been before. "Well, good choice."

"Yeah," I said. The barista gave him his order and he moved out of the way for me to place my order. I did, and as I waited for my coffee I scanned the shop, hoping to see some sign of my interviewer. No such luck.

"Looking for someone?" a voice behind me said.

I didn't need to look behind me to know it was the same guy I'd been behind in the coffee line. "Hopefully, my future boss," I said, keeping my eyes glued on the door. I glanced behind me right as the barista was about to call my name for the coffee. I took it out of her hands and took a sip. "I'm here for an interview," I said, finally looking over at him.

He was handsome in a classic way, with dark hair and eyes, tall and muscled. Very superman-ly. He wore a standard black suit with a red tie and a white shirt. But I could see beyond that. He was withdrawn, intelligent, and if I wasn't mistaken, a pretty take-action man. I gave a slight grin. I was really too good at reading into people for my own good. "Why the grin?" he asked.

"Maybe I'm just confident about getting my new job," I said.

"I'm sorry for prying," he said. "I don't normally approach people at coffee shops. But you look very familiar, and it's not common for me to not remember a face."

"Well, I'm sorry, I don't recognize you," I said. At that moment, Seth Mallard walked through the door. "Excuse me, that's my guy." I watched as the dark-haired man looked in the direction of Mallard, a look of almost surprise on his face.

I walked forward and plastered a smile on my face. "Chef Mallard, it's great to see you again!"

"You as well, Miss Hale. Come on, let's sit."

I glanced once more at the dark-haired man, who was still looking in my direction. He was watching Mallard like a hawk. Then I turned around and walked over to Mallard, who opted for a seat outside. We sat down at a tiny two seater table. "Are you going to get coffee?" I asked.

"That won't be necessary," Chef Mallard said. I looked at him in confusion, trying to read into his expressions. He was behaving coldly, and he was acting distant. His blonde hair was slightly disheveled, and his blue eyes were completely focused in on me. He didn't seem like the nice, joking mid-forties man I'd originally hoped to work for. My eyes wandered behind him, glancing at a couple drinking coffee before looking back at him.

"Is everything alright?" I asked.

"I just have a few questions for you, Miss Hale," Mallard replied.

"Of course. Absolutely," I said, smoothing my skirt nervously.

"You've lived in the D.C. area for how long?"

"A couple years," I replied.

"You graduated from Yale, am I correct?"

"Yes, sir," I said, taking a nervous sip of my coffee. He was so emotionless. Almost static, or procedural. I crossed my legs, needing to move myself.

"And you spent twenty weeks in the FBI Academy?"

"How do you know—"

"I make it my business to know who I'm employing, Miss Hale," Mallard said. "And you seem highly overqualified."

"With all due respect, Chef Mallard, I'm overqualified for a government position. Not a job as a chef's assistant." Now I was on my guard. Something was wrong.

"True," he replied coldly. "One more question, Miss Hale. Are you the daughter of Samuel Hale?"

Immediately I understood. "You're not really a head chef at The Vine, are you?" I said slowly. I moved to slide my chair backwards when I heard a familiar, sickening click.

"Don't move, or I pull the trigger," he said. He had the gun low on the table, covered with a napkin.

I tried to keep my breathing calm. "Who are you?" I asked.

"I need you to come with me, Miss Hale."

"I don't think so," I replied. I moved a little further away, and he reached across the table to grab my arm.

"If you move one more little bit, I will blow a hole through your head."

"There are far too many witnesses for you to go through with that."

"Then you obviously do not know me, Miss Hale."

I looked at him harder. And he gave me no indication that he was lying. My heart fluttered in terror. "Fine. I'll go with you."

He stood up, his grip on my arm iron tight. I followed him up, taking two steps. "Quickly," he said, pushing the gun into my side.

"Wait," I said. He pushed the gun harder, and I winced. "Let me at least get my coffee to go."

"Are you serious?"

"Trust me, you don't want me sans caffeine."

"Fine," he snapped. I reached backwards to get the coffee from the table. As I did, two things happened. First, through the glass panes of the coffee shop, I made eye contact with the dark-haired man who had the same coffee order as me. A witness I couldn't avoid. I assessed the risk of him seeing this, and figured that as long as I could outrun him I wouldn't be caught. After I did so, I grabbed the coffee and threw it in Mallard's—if that was even his real name, which I realized was doubtful—eyes. He cried out as it burned his face, and I quickly began to sprint away as fast as I could in heels.

I made it just far enough to be out of sight of the coffee shop before a hand grabbed my arm and yanked me backwards. "Miss Hale, I'd highly recommend not trying anything else," Mallard growled in my ear. He curled an arm around my neck, cutting off my air, and shoved the gun into my side. "The car is right here. If I have to shoot you to get you in, I will."

"You won't kill me," I choked with what little air I had. "You want me alive. Your employer wants me alive."

He slammed the gun against my forehead, dazing me. He dragged me backwards towards a white SUV. I slammed my heel into his shin, and he cocked his gun as he yelled out in pain.

"Drop the gun," a deep voice said from behind us.

Mallard turned around, still keeping me firmly in his grasp, and he moved the gun to my temple. I saw the dark-haired man from the coffee shop. He was pointing a gun directly at Mallard's head. I felt him rumble as he laughed. "Who are you? Her bodyguard?"

"Agent Hotchner, FBI. You should really let go of her."

"FBI. Huh. Well this is an interesting development. He a friend of yours, Miss Hale?"

"I don't know him," I said. The gun dug further into my head.

"Don't lie," he hissed into my ear. I could smell his breath, and it reeked.

"I said I don't know him!" I repeated sternly. "But I think he knows me."

"I do now," Agent Hotchner replied. "I remember your face from files of prospective agents. You went through twenty weeks of FBI training, you were recommended to many different units, and then all of a sudden you backed out."

"Change of heart," I choked out. Mallard's arm tightened, and I closed my eyes. "Damn. For a man who wants me alive, you're doing an excellent job of ensuring the opposite."

"Let her go," Aaron Hotchner said calmly. "I've already asked for backup. They'll be here any minute."

Mallard hesitated. Then I felt the pressure of the gun release on my temple. "Did you know, Agent Hotchner, that if you sever a major artery, and pressure is not directly applied and held until immediate medical attention arrives, then you die in minutes?"

I watched as Agent Hotchner's face lit up in worry."Don't do it—"

The bullet entered my leg almost immediately and I screamed as pain exploded inside me. Mallard let me fall to the ground and ran to the car. Agent Hotchner, to my surprise, watched him escape and then quickly ran over to me. He took off his suit jacket and pressed it into my thigh, causing me to moan. "He nicked your femoral artery, and at close range I have no clue what else it's done. We need to call a bus."

"Yes, please," I panted.

He pulled out his phone with his free hand and mumbled into it, asking for an ambulance. He hung up and pushed on my leg.

"I guess telling you that what you're doing freaking hurts wouldn't get you to stop?"

"Well, it's either this or die," he replied. "Sorry your interview didn't go as planned."

"I should've known better," I groaned. The feeling of terror began to build up in me when I saw the dark pool of red that I was sitting in. "God, that is a lot of blood. Am I going to die?"

"Not if I can help it," he said, placing more pressure on my leg as I gasped. "You're probably not going to be conscious for much longer, and I might not see you again, so I'll ask now—why'd you decide against the FBI when you were so highly qualified? It could help us catch this guy."

He was right. My vision was swirling and I was starting to feel tired. "Wasn't for me," I muttered.

"That unsub seemed to think differently," he replied.

"He's not the first," I whispered. Everything was a blur of colors.

"The first to what?"

I turned my head, trying to look in the direction of his face. "To try to make me tell them where my father is," I breathed. I groaned again as the pain shot through my body, slowly dulling to an all-encompassing throb of agony.

The pain in my leg was fiery, and my vision glazed over in red for a moment. I moaned, and Agent Hotchner pressed his hands more firmly into my leg. "According to your file, you are too valuable to die, Miss Hale. Just hold on," he said, and I heard sirens in the distance.

"Call me Nat," I mumbled. They were the last words I remember saying before everything turned into black blurs.

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	2. CHAPTER 2: A Helpful Citizen (Hale)

In case anyone was wondering, this isn't the kind of story where a bunch of action happens in just a few chapters and that's it. There's a lot of in between, character building moments, and while it may not give you the instantaneous satisfaction, I feel like it makes it a better story. If you're looking for a quick two second read, this story probably won't be your friend.

That being said, there will be much, much, much action throughout. And oodles of drama :P

Enjoy!

CHAPTER TWO: A HELPFUL CITIZEN (HALE)

When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed, my leg feeling like it weighed a thousand pounds. I sat up, trying to gain my bearings. What the hell had happened?

"Jason?" I asked weakly. "Jason?"

"No Jason. Just me."

I looked towards the voice. It was the dark-haired man. What was his name again? "Excuse me?"

"Do you not remember?"

"You…you're the FBI agent who saved me." My memory came back in tiny flashes. Coffee...superman-ly man...a gunshot...

"Who's Jason?" he asked. "A relative?"

"My boyfriend," I said. I glanced around me. "Why are you here?"

He stood up and walked over to the bed. "They found no one else to call who could get here soon. No father, no mother, no nearby siblings. I felt responsible to make sure you didn't wake up from such a traumatic experience all by yourself."

"That's kind," I said. "But you're lying."

He looked interested. "How so?"

"You want me to reconsider the FBI," I said.

"Judging by how quickly you analyzed my being here, I'd actually hope you'd consider joining my team. The Behavioral Analysis Unit."

"In case you missed the intro, I was just interviewing for a job as an assistant chef."

"In case you missed the ending, the head chef just tried to kill you."

_Touché_, I said to myself. "He wants me alive, though."

"Why?"

I didn't reply. I looked down and saw an IV in my arm. I moved to rip it out and a hand covered mine.

"I don't think so," he said, tossing my hand to the side. "Now tell me why."

"I don't have to tell you anything," I said. "I need to call Jason. How long have I been here?"

"A few hours. Nothing major."

"Nothing major besides almost bleeding out on the side of the road," I mumbled. "Jason's probably flipping out."

"He can wait."

"He can't," I snapped.

"Alright. I'll get a nurse to call him." He stepped out of the room for a moment, spoke quickly to a nurse, and then came back in. "Now, he's practically on his way. Talk to me about why that man wants you alive."

"Why do you have such a personal investment in my wellbeing?" I asked. His eyes flashed for a moment, and I understood. "He's already part of your case, isn't he? He's your unidentified subject. Your unsub."

"You really confused me for a moment," he admitted. "First I thought you looked very familiar, and then you were having coffee with my unsub. I pegged you as his ally first, thought maybe I'd seen you while researching him. Of course, I figured differently when he pulled the gun on you. Excellent move, by the way, throwing the coffee in his face."

"Not excellent enough," I said. I paused for a moment. "He wants to know where my dad is."

"And who is your father?"  
"Samuel Hale."

At this, he looked shocked. "The missing FBI agent? He's been off the grid for years. In fact...isn't he presumed dead?"

"Yeah. Crazy, I know. But lots of people seem to think I know where he is. And I don't."

"Lots of people?"

"He's not the first to ask," I replied. "He _is_ the first to pull a gun on me about it."

"Listen, I can't take away from your recovery anymore, but when you're up to it, give me a call. I'd like to catch this guy, and you…well, I don't know if you want to find your father, but maybe you could explore the option of being an FBI agent. The position is open if you want it. You've already gone through the required training and according to your file you have all the prerequisites. You'd just need a physical and a psychological evaluation and you'd be in."

He handed me a business card. I glanced at it. The name on it was Aaron Hotchner. I glanced at it. "How can you want me on your team? Do you even know my name?"

"You told me to call you Nat," he said, giving me a grin. Even then, not knowing this man at all, I knew that it was a rare thing to receive a grin from him.

"Did I? My name's Natalie Hale. But I prefer Nat."

"Well, Natalie Hale, give me a call when you're up and walking. We could use you."

He started walking out the door. I watched him leave. "Agent Hotchner?"

"Yeah?" he said.

"Thank you. For saving me. For not letting me bleed out instead of going to hunt down your unsub. It must have been hard watching him get away like that."

He seemed to think a moment before speaking. "I will always protect a life before hunting down another." I nodded. "And you can call me Hotch."

Jason rushed into the hospital room an hour later, concern plastered on his face. "Nat! What happened? Are you okay?"

"Jason, I'm so glad you're here!" I exclaimed, immediately perking up.

"They told me you were _shot_?"

"It's okay, I'm fine," I said. "See? All taped up."

"Spare me the crap, Nat, how much pain are you in? Who did this to you?"

"Jay," I said, grabbing his hand. "I'm fine. I promise you. This guy saved me."

"Who?" he asked. "I should thank him."

"He left," I said. "He had to go back to his job. I'd already kept him away from it for quite a while."

"Yeah, a while! You've been missing for a day! I didn't even think to call hospitals, I didn't even want to consider the possibility—"

"A day!" I exclaimed, thinking back to what Agent Hotchner had said earlier. "That's impossible."

"It's not," a nurse said as she walked into the room, carrying a clipboard with lots of scribbles on it. "You lost loads of blood due to the injury to your femoral artery. We had to perform surgery and some serious blood transfusions, but your got lucky. The bullet just grazed the artery, it didn't completely sever it. The man who saved your life stayed nearly the whole time."

"He told me I was only out a few hours," I said. The nurse adjusted something with the IV and jotted something down on her clipboard.

"He probably didn't want you to worry," she replied kindly.

"When will she be recovered by?" Jason asked.

"She should be able to leave in a day or so," the nurse said. She looked at me. "You'll need crutches for a while, but you should be able to walk in no time. That man who saved you did an excellent job of keeping you alive before the ambulance got there. He seemed to have a lot of experience."

"Who was it?" Jason asked. "I really need to thank—"

"It's no big deal, Jay," I interrupted. "He was just a very helpful citizen. I'm sure he knows you're grateful." I didn't want Jason knowing anything about my connection to the FBI. He loved me for the person I was—an aspiring chef. If he knew about my previous job trajectory, he might view me as a completely different person.

"He's more than a helpful citizen," the nurse said, and I tried not to look annoyed. "He works for the FBI."

"Really?" Jason and I asked at the same time. Feigning ignorance was the way to go.

"Did you hear that, Nat?" Jason said as the nurse walked away. "You were saved by an FBI agent? How crazy is that?"

"Pretty crazy," I sighed, turning my head to look out the window.

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	3. CHAPTER 3: A Turn of Events (Hotch)

CHAPTER THREE: A TURN OF EVENTS (HOTCH)

I flipped open my phone as I exited the hospital, dialing a familiar number as I searched for my car.

"Talk dirty to me," a female voice tittered. It was Penelope Garcia, our technical analyst.

"Garcia, it's Hotch, not Morgan," I said, unlocking the car door and getting in. "I need you to look up someone for me."

"Oops, sorry about that, I could have sworn I saw Derek's name. But sure thing. You got something on the unsub?"

"No, it's not about the unsub. It's a previous case. Do you have anything on a Samuel Hale?"

"Hale? The missing FBI agent from forever ago?"

"Yeah. Just read off the basics for me."

"Not much here," Garcia said. "He was recruited to the FBI really young, twenty-four. One of the best analysts we ever had. He was here with Rossi in the original BAU. The man was an FBI legend, he put away a zillion bad guys."

"What does it say about him going missing?"

"This source is vague, it just said he went off the grid on an undercover op. He's been missing for nearly ten years."

"Is there anything in there about his family?"

"He was married to Bonnie Hale when he was twenty-one, fresh out of college. They had two kids, an older son and a younger daughter, Daniel and Natalie. Daniel seems kind of like an Average Joe, went to a state university and is married to a lawyer, Rachel Hale, and they live in North Dakota with two kids. Natalie, however…huh, that's odd."

"What?" I asked.

"Her file's encrypted. That's impossible, this is my personal system…."

"Who's capable of this?" I asked.

Garcia paused for a moment, and I could hear her typing away. "_Maybe _the CIA, Hotch. But judging by the carelessness of this, it looks like this was put up over the last twenty-four hours. I can probably get in given some time. What's up with this girl? Who'd hack into government records to encrypt her file?"

"I'm not sure yet," I said. "But if I play my cards right, she might be the newest member of our team."

"Really? Well, damn, Hotch, why'd you have to get a pretty one? I'll be taking hits to my self esteem for weeks."

"Garcia, can you get into that file soon?" I asked sternly, turning onto my street.

"Give me a couple hours, I'll see what I can do."

"Thanks. One last question."

"Sure thing."

"Where's the mother now? Maybe I can talk to her, try to get a sense of this Natalie girl."

"Hotch, Bonnie Hale was…brutally murdered a year after Samuel Hale's disappearance. Natalie was seventeen, Daniel was twenty. It's a cold case now, no one ever found the murderer."

I thought about the girl I'd left in the hospital bed. "Alright. Thanks Garcia."

I hung up the phone and pulled up into my driveway. Jack was at his aunt's and the house was all to myself. Unfortunately, I was barely staying there for five minutes. I had to go back to the office, to explain my absence to my team.

I showered quickly and changed suits. My previous one was absolutely ruined with Natalie Hale's blood. I locked up the house and walked back out to my car. It had been an interesting, enlightening twenty-four hours. And it was time to go get this unsub once and for all.

My phone rang as I drove to the BAU. I opened it. "Garcia, wait till I get there, I'll get the file then."

"This isn't Garcia," a soft voice said. "I'm the girl from the coffee shop. Natalie Hale."

I was shocked. I hadn't been expecting a call this soon. She had to still be in the hospital. "I need you to recover before you start working," I said.

"I don't want the job," she said. "Let's get that out of the way. I decided not to be a part of the FBI for a reason."

"Then why'd you call?"

"I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I thought in any way possible I didn't help you catch this unsub of yours."

"Right now, you need to recover."

"If you can get the hospital to let me out earlier, you might be that much closer to catching your unsub. And I really don't need to be here anymore. I'm not even on that stupid IV anymore, I'm just sitting here. I even have normal people clothes on. Get them to release me with your magical FBI powers and I'll give you whatever help I can."

"I can't take you away from a hospital, you were just shot," I said, remembering the pain in her face as she crumpled to the ground, as her blood coated my hands.

"Actually, as the nurse cared to inform me, it's been a full day since I was shot, not a few hours."

I couldn't help but grin. "I needed you to stay calm."

"Well, Agent Hotchner, I'm perfectly calm and healthy now. So I'll be expecting a call allowing me to leave the hospital ASAP." Before I could protest, she hung up.

I knew she was just what my team needed. I needed her on our team. And if that meant granting her stupid request, then I'd do it.

I pulled into the BAU building and quickly walked into the office. "Morning, Hotch," Derek Morgan immediately greeted as I walked in. "God, have you slept any since this case was opened? And where were you yesterday?"

"Get the team together," I said, walking up to my office. "I need to speak to all of you."

Morgan looked at me for a moment, and then nodded.

Ten minutes later, everyone was seated in the briefing room, looking suspicious. "Hotch, what's going on?" Emily Prentiss asked as she pushed her dark hair out of her eyes.

"Yeah, normally I'm doing the standing up and briefing," Jennifer Jareau, better known as JJ, said.

"The unsub has a different motive," I said. "He wanted this girl, Natalie Hale." On cue, Garcia ran into the room, her pink-streaked hair flying around her.

"I got into her file, Hotch," Garcia said. "The code was crazy easy to crack. I don't think it was entirely finished, or it was put up by someone who didn't know that they were up against someone like yours truly."

"Put it up on the screen," I said.

Garcia typed something into her ever-present laptop and suddenly Natalie Hale's file popped up on the screen. There was a blowup picture of her face, her dark auburn waves framing her face, the gray-blue of her eyes steely. "She's a looker," Morgan said. "Is the unsub attracted to her?"

"I think he wants her for her connection to a missing FBI agent," I said. "Samuel Hale."

"She's his daughter?" JJ asked.

"Yes."

"How'd you figure this out, Hotch?" Spencer Reid, our resident genius, asked, piping up for the first time. "We got this case for a slew of killings, not for a potential kidnapping. Why the sudden change of motive?"

"Stroke of luck," I said. "I met Hale in a coffee shop yesterday morning. We happened to make small talk because of mutual drink orders. She was meeting someone for a job interview. Enter our unsub, going by the name Seth Mallard, but that can't be his name because of the initials we found on that paper earlier on in the investigation. They got into an altercation, and the unsub shot her in the thigh, rendering both her and myself immobile and unable to pursue him. I've been with her at the hospital, waiting for her to wake up, due to the fact that she had no relatives available to come."

"How'd you know that he was the unsub? He's called an unsub for a reason," Prentiss said.

"He fit the physical and behavioral descriptions," I said. "Blond, forties, average. Emotionally detached, very focused, very procedural. And then when he pulled the gun on her, I pretty much had a clue. She fits the profile of the other victims. She's an attractive, mid-twenties woman who's looking for a step-up in her career. Except something with her was different."

"What's that?" Morgan asked.

"He wanted her alive," I said. "Part of it was definitely because of the potential source of information about Samuel Hale. But this girl is also trained for the FBI. She went through twenty weeks at the Academy. She excelled in every area, physically and mentally. She was offered positions in almost every unit, even the BAU. She's raw talent exemplified in one human being and she decided not to go through with the job. Today she thought she was being interviewed for a position as a chef's assistant."

"So you think the unsub wanted her for her talents? What for?" Morgan asked.

"I don't know," I said.

"Hotch?" Reid asked in his usually near-timid voice.

"Yeah, Reid?" I responded, almost exasperatedly.

"You said the unsub wanted Natalie Hale, and that the gunshot wound he inflicted upon her kept her from being mobile?"

"Yes, Reid, what's your point?"

"Hotch, what if he still wants her? She's a sitting duck, lying there in that hospital with no one protecting her. She's his for the taking."

It took me all of two seconds to process what he said. "We need to move out, now," I said, rushing out of the room without even making sure the rest of the team was following me. I knew they were.

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PS: Sorry if my interpretation of Hotch is kind of off. It was a little hard to get into his head at the beginning, but I think that as my story progresses my interpretation of him gets more accurate.


	4. CHAPTER 4: A Leap of Faith (Hale)

CHAPTER FOUR: A LEAP OF FAITH (HALE)

Jason had to leave. He had to leave for his job, and his boss wasn't taking no for an answer. I didn't want to make him feel guilty, so I just smiled and gave him a kiss. The moment he was out the door, I groaned and tried to figure out how I was going to survive the boredom that was sure to follow. The nurse helped me change into actual clothes, due to the fact that there really was no need for me to be in that stupid hospital gown any further. And I called Agent Hotchner, but I wasn't sure how convincing I'd been. I stared at the ceiling, unsure what I couldn't take more of: the constant dull throbbing in my leg, or the incessant boredom.

The same nurse poked her head in. "Natalie?"

"Yeah?"

"You have another visitor."

"Really?" I asked, trying to think of who it could be. I didn't think anyone else had been contacted. "Who?"

"He said his name is Seth Mallard," the nurse said.

My mouth hung slightly open for a moment. Could hospital security actually be that lax? "What?"

He stepped in the room, his arms crossed, his icy eyes completely focused in on me. It was nerve-racking, as if there was nothing else in the world he could see except for me. The nurse walked out and I cried out, "Wait!"

He was at my bed in two seconds. "No, no, we don't need you screaming." He pushed a towel into my face, and immediately I inhaled something chemical. I fought him, grabbing an empty vase off of the side table and smashing it into his head. I was already too weak to muster enough force to break it over his head, and he was barely discombobulated. I tried to find anything else to defend myself with, but there was nothing.

He came back and held the towel up to my face again, and this time I could feel the lethargy setting in. "Please," I moaned. "I'm no use to you."

"Wrong," he said. "We need you."

Everything was swirling, and I couldn't keep my eyes open. I was helpless as he lifted me out of the hospital bed and quickly ran out with me. I fought the need to sleep. I wouldn't do it. I had to fight back. No way was this happening to me twice in two days.

He seemed to know the hospital and its workings, because we didn't run into anyone until the ground floor. He was moving quickly, and my leg hurt like hell as he jostled it mercilessly. "Stop, please," I moaned. "Please."

He quickly deposited me into the trunk of his car. He grabbed a rope and did the quickest knot tying I'd ever seen around my wrists and ankles. He was professional, that's for sure. He was working for someone, undoubtedly. That's why he was so focused, so detached. It was his way of coping with the stress of trying to accomplish his mission. Which was me. He placed a piece of duct tape over my mouth and slammed the door shut. For the first time, I actually felt scared. He walked around to the driver's seat and opened the door.

"FBI, surrender all your weapons, we have you surrounded," I heard a familiar voice yell out. It was slightly muffled by the car door.

He was already in the driver's seat, and I was too tired to do much anything other than groan and kick my foot against the wall of the car. He put the key in the ignition and started it up, and I heard men yelling as the car backed up. I couldn't hear them, as I was still fighting every moment against the fatigue. The sound of gunshots filled the air, and I flinched. The man who had gone by Mallard slammed on the accelerator, and I was tossed around as he must have reached at least forty in the parking garage. The shots continued, and for a moment I actually accepted defeat.

I could tell when the bullets started hitting the tires as the car started to spin out of control. My head slammed into the side of the car and I moaned again. My body, already wracked with pains and terrors, was pitched into the car door and around the trunk. I wasn't going to hold out much longer, and I was only able to help myself if I was conscious.

Despite the fact that the car was losing control, it was still managing to move forward. The tires had definitely been reinforced with something very bullet resistant. I looked around for anything to help me, and was surprised to find an emergency window hatch at the back. Could it really be that easy? As the car continued to spiral out of control, I waited for it to sling me into the window, knowing I'd have to time it perfectly. Eventually the moment came, and as the force of the car torpedoed me into the window I pushed up with my shoulder on the hatch, forcing the window open. My captor screamed at me and pointed a gun in my direction, but I had nothing to fear. The car was far too out of control for him to get a clear shot. I knew what I needed to do. The moment the car was about to exit the parking lot, I pitched myself out of the window.

There was a moment where I was suspended in the air, terrified suddenly of being hit by a stray bullet. The next, I hit the concrete, trying to execute a tuck-n-roll that would soften the blow. I watched as the car disappeared yet again.

What in the world had I gotten myself into?

Immediately I was surrounded by people in FBI vests. I couldn't recognize anyone. "We need a medic," I heard a male's voice say. Whoever it was gently peeled the duct tape off of my mouth, and I sucked in the cool air as if I couldn't get enough. Which was very true.

"We're at a hospital, Reid," a girl said. "Someone just carry her inside."

"We can't just carry her, JJ, what if she has a neck injury?" another girl asked.

"No neck injury," I breathed, and they all looked at me. "I swear."

"She's got to have a concussion," the boy—Reid—said. "She sounds like she's about to pass out."

"No…," I moaned. "Chloroform, or something. So tired."

"Alright, everyone move," a familiar male's voice said. I turned my head slowly towards the sound. Agent Hotchner walked up and knelt down on the ground. He took out a knife, which was tucked in his shoe, and worked on the ropes holding my hands and feet together. "Talk about a rough couple days, Miss Hale," he said, putting his arms under my knees and back and lifting me up off the ground after my bonds were cut.

I gave a little groan of pain and then said, "Years avoiding the FBI, and then I seem to walk straight into the belly of it."

"Could be a sign," he said. He started walking quickly towards the hospital.

"You know what," I sighed, closing my eyes. "If I don't get shot or kidnapped again in the next twenty-four hours, I'll reconsider this whole FBI thing."

"I'll hold you to that," he said, and as he said that I could feel the last bit of my strength leaving me. My head collapsed onto his bullet proof vest, and I was out as quick as a light.

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	5. CHAPTER 5: A Formal Introduction (Hotch)

CHAPTER FIVE: A FORMAL INTRODUCTION (HOTCH)

"Victimology," Rossi said. "Why Natalie?"

"We've been over that," Prentiss said. "She fits his profile, she has a connection to Samuel Hale, and she has all the abilities of an FBI agent, if that ends up being relevant, which we don't know yet."

"Yes. But what about our unsub. How has he managed to get away both times unscathed? It's not like he had the best getaways. He's sloppy, he doesn't know exactly what he's doing."

"He's calm and calculating, but he's not bright," I pitched in, glancing through the glass window of the hospital room where Natalie was again hooked up to an IV. If she was only unconscious because of the chemical she'd inhaled, she'd be up any moment. "He's got to be working for someone else."

"But all the murders we've had before go back to him, not a superior to him," Prentiss said. "He gave no indication of working with a partner before Natalie."

"I think something happened to completely change his motive," I said. "He's no longer killing to kill. From what we had gathered before, killing was an uncontrollable urge of his."

"Which means that the only thing to get him to stop would be working underneath someone who really terrified him," Prentiss offered.

"Or someone he cares about," JJ pitched in.

"Or both," Reid said.

Everyone stopped a moment to think. "It's probably time to start treating him like a new person," Rossi said. "All the behavioral analysis we did before, it's all null. His patterns have completely changed."

"He'll probably try to come back for Natalie again," I said. "When that happens, we have to catch him before he can actually succeed."

"But when will he try again?" Morgan asked. He hadn't said much the whole time we'd been here. I was wondering what was going through his head. "He's got to know the FBI will be watching her now."

"Like I said, he's not bright. We'll have to be ready whenever, until any new information tells us otherwise," I said.

Suddenly a nurse came into the room we were sitting in. "Natalie Hale is awake," she said. "She's a little bit confused and her memory might be a little affected, but other than that she's just got a couple scrapes and bruises."

"And a hole in her leg," Morgan muttered. I gave him a look and he shut up.

"We need to go in there and ask her some questions," I said. "Is that alright?"

"Yes, she's up for that," the nurse said.

I nodded and the team followed me inside the hospital room. Natalie was sitting up in her bed, drinking a glass of water. She had a scrape on her forehead and particularly bad bruising up one of her arms. Her hair was tied into a ponytail, and she was glancing at each of us individually. "Brought some backup this time," she noted.

"Natalie Hale, meet the rest of my team," I said, pointing to each as I said their names. "This is Emily Prentiss, Dr. Spencer Reid, Derek Morgan, Jennifer Jareau, also known as JJ, and David Rossi."

She nodded. "Nice to meet you. Kind of."

"Do you want me to call that guy, Jason?"

Natalie groaned. "Jason. I forgot about him. Don't call, I'd rather him not learn about what's going to happen next."

"And what's that?" Prentiss asked.

"Well, I'm pretty sure that until you guys catch your unsub, I'll be stuck in Quantico with you."

"You don't want him knowing where you are?" JJ asked her.

Natalie straightened up and put the glass of water back down on the floor. "Jason gets too carried away sometimes," she said. "He doesn't need to know that an unsub the FBI is tracking tried to kidnap me twice in forty-eight hours. Besides, I agreed to help. That's your main concern."

"We have to tell Jason," Morgan said. "Otherwise the unsub might use him to get to you."

"He's not the type," she reasoned. "Judging by his not very well thought out plans, he's not the brightest crayon in the box. And, if you look at the riskiness of his plans, it's obvious that he wants to apprehend me as quickly as he possibly can, so I doubt he'd take the time to track down Jason and kidnap him and then use him against me. Besides, it's doubtful he even knows Jason exists, or what he means to me. So, altogether a useless idea."

Everyone stared at me. "Damn," Morgan said.

"Have you ever taken a profiling class?" Prentiss asked.

Natalie shrugged.

"Once you're better, we need to bring you to the BAU," I said. "You could be useful in catching him."

"I'm fine now," she replied. "I just need crutches."

"The nurse said you were confused and you were lapsing in memory," I said.

"Yeah, when I woke up I didn't know where I was. Now I do. Problem solved."

"Do you remember anything about the unsub attacking you."

"I remember everything," she said quietly.

I looked at the team for a moment, and then nodded. "Alright. I'll get the release papers signed now."

I walked out of the room and went to go get her out of the hospital. I heard footsteps behind me, and Prentiss appeared at my shoulder. "There's more to her than you're telling us," she said in a low voice.

"Not much," I said.

"Don't hide stuff from us, Hotch," Prentiss said, looking at me sternly. "We're a team."

"You're right," I said. I paused a moment, and then continued. "I'm trying to get Natalie to join the BAU."

"Really?" Prentiss asked, surprised. "And she's qualified for this type of work?"

"Completely. You should see her file, Prentiss. Trust me, she's overqualified."

"Why's she so against the FBI then?" she asked.

"I'm not sure yet. Judging by her reactions, she's got something personal about it."

"It's probably her father," Prentiss said. "He became missing because of a mission he was undergoing while in the FBI. She blames them for the disappearance of her father."

"And, ultimately, her mother's death," I added. "She was murdered a year after Samuel Hale went missing."

"Sounds like enough reason to hate the FBI," Prentiss said.

"I think there's something more," I replied. I finished the papers that would get Natalie released and then turned them back in to the nurse. "Let's go get her."

We walked back to Natalie's room and the others stood up. "You can leave now," I said. "The nurse is going to bring you some crutches."

"Sounds good," she replied. "I'm sick of this place anyway." She sat up in her bed and sighed. "You know, yesterday I'd have told you the most dangerous thing I'd ever do was trying some new food in another country. Now I'm diving headfirst out of moving vehicles and getting shot at."

"That dive was badass, by the way," Morgan said. "If you hadn't tucked and rolled you might've shattered your skull."

"It was my favorite move in evasive combat training at the Academy. Couldn't practice it enough."

"You should've seen her throw scalding coffee in the unsub's face," I said as the nurse came in with the crutches. "It was quite a show."

The nurse helped Natalie up off the bed and soon she was standing up, leaning heavily on the crutches. She winced, and when I gave her a concerned look she replied, "It's nothing. Just some bruising. Lead the way."

I observed her for one more moment, and then I turned and started walking away.

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	6. CHAPTER 6: A Cognitive Revelation (Hale)

CHAPTER SIX: A COGNITIVE REVELATION

Two hours.

Two hours until I either kept a promise, or broke it.

In two hours, it was exactly one day since I told Agent Hotchner that if I didn't get kidnapped or shot at in twenty-four hours, I'd reconsider working for the FBI.

A part of me was truly rethinking it. I had avoided even the idea of the FBI for a while, for reasons that had always been very personal to me. My parents of course, but there was something else. Something I had never told anyone.

I was sitting in the BAU at Derek Morgan's desk. He seemed pretty relaxed, and he was undoubtedly very attractive. He was pretty welcoming. He also seemed to be doing a lot of checking me out, and I couldn't tell if he was profiling me or if it was the Y chromosome at work. He didn't say anything, though, so I didn't really mind. A couple times some of the others would stop to say something to me, but mostly I was left unattended.

I glanced at Morgan's desk. There were open files splayed out everywhere, and I couldn't help but glance at them. A serial killer in Tennessee, a satanic cult in Virginia…crazy things I'd only seen in training manuals and crime shows.

"Hey, stay out of that!"

I jumped back, the movement causing me to jostle my leg, and I winced. "Sorry," I mumbled, backing my chair away from his desk. I looked up at him, and he seemed conflicted.

"It's okay," he finally said. "Just keep your eyes to yourself."

"Sorry," I repeated. "I'm just bored. I thought you'd be questioning me or something."

"We're going to do a cognitive interview on you in a little while," he said. "Hotch just got caught up at Jack's school at some conference, he's running late. And he might want to be the one to run you through it, since he was there."

"Jack?" I questioned.

"His son," Morgan said.

"Oh," I replied. I tried to think of a miniature Agent Hotchner and failed to conjure the image. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," Morgan said, sitting on his desk.

"Do you think we'll catch this guy?"

Morgan looked at me carefully. "I really hope so."

"No, don't give me that," I said. "I'm a big girl. I want to know if you think we'll catch him."

"I don't know," he answered truthfully. "He hasn't left us much to work with. We're hoping getting inside of your brain will help."

"It should," I mused. "I happen to use my brain a lot."

"We'll be counting on that," Morgan said with a grin.

I grinned back at him, and then glanced at his holster. "Glock 17?" I asked.

Morgan nodded. "And that's just the one I keep in sight," he said with a wink. I laughed, and at that moment Hotch walked into the building.

"Hotch, do you want to get Natalie's cognitive interview going?" Morgan called over to him.

"I can't right now, I have other problems to deal with right now," he said as he rushed to his office. "You and Reid get it started."

I looked up as Spencer Reid walked up and offered me a hand. "We need to go to a quieter room to do the interview," he said. I took his hand, surprised that such a beanpole could be so strong as he hauled me to my feet. I got my crutches and wobbled off after them, struggling up some stairs and sighing in relief as I finally sat in the chair they offered me.

Morgan and Reid sat opposite me. Morgan said, "Alright, now if you could just relax, and close your eyes."

I did, and for a moment I was shocked at how soothing his voice could be.

"Now, I need you to think about what happened when you first met the man you thought was Seth Mallard. Think about what you saw, yes, but also what you heard, tasted, smelled, felt. Just tell us everything."

I thought back for a moment. "Well, I first met him when my friend and I went to this really nice restaurant, The Vine. He came around as the manager, asking if we enjoyed our meal. We got to talking, and I told him that I'd taken some culinary school in Italy. He offered me a job interview."

"Think about how he acted, how he spoke to you, where his eyes were."

"He was very relaxed, very charismatic. He smiled a lot. We were talking like old friends. He and my friend even compared tattoos. His was an odd, Celtic-looking symbol on his left shoulder. A Celtic knot." I could hear Reid jotting things down on paper. "He gave me his number." I told them it. "He was always very focused, even then. He didn't get distracted from us at all. His eyes only wavered to go back and forth from me to my friend and then back again."

"Any other useful information? Think about your surroundings, the others around you," Morgan continued.

I tried to wrack my brain for more information. "I'd had a few glasses of wine," I admitted. "I was more likely to miss the tiny details."

"Just give us what you can," Morgan urged.

"He was wearing knock-offs," I said. "Fake Rolex, cheap cologne, mock Ray-Bans hanging from his shirt pocket. He wanted to put forth the appearance of wealth. But he's not rich. Whoever he's working for must not be paying him much, which leads me to believe they must have some sort of personal connection. And he didn't know the restaurant well…he accidentally went the wrong way towards the kitchen after he left. I didn't think anything of it then…God, I'm so stupid…."

"You're the opposite," Morgan reassured me. "Now tell me about the morning at the coffee shop."

"That was when I met Agent Hotchner," I said. "The coffee shop wasn't that packed, just a couple other people. Mallard, or the unsub, came right on time. The blatant effort spent on focusing in on me, the need to look put together and wealthy…I'm guessing that he could be a narcissist. But he changed at the coffee shop. He wasn't putting up the friendly front. He didn't ask me any questions related to a chef position…that's when I really started to get suspicious."

"What questions did he ask?" Reid asked, and I was surprised to hear his voice instead of Morgan's.

"He asked how long I'd lived in the D.C. area. He asked about my schooling, and about my time at the FBI Academy. When he asked about my dad, I tried to get out. That's when he pulled a gun on me. I never got a good look at it. He remained calculating and cool, but he…." My voice trailed as I tried to hold onto the brief flashes of memory that flitted through my brain.

"He what?" Morgan prodded.

"He smelled different," I suddenly remembered. "His cologne…it was an expensive brand. And he was wearing…an actual Rolex. He came into some money." I opened my eyes and stared at Morgan. "Your other victims…what do they have in common?"

"They're all mid-twenties women, in some sort of job crisis."

"Job crisis?"

"Recently unemployed women."

"How long prior to their murders had they been unemployed?"

"Look, Natalie, we're trying to interview you, not the other way around," Morgan balked, sounding half amused and half annoyed.

"It's important," I said sternly, staring him right in the eye.

Morgan looked at Reid, who shrugged. "They'd been unemployed for a few months, no more than six."

"I'm going to go on a hunch here and say all of these women have some sort of criminal record, or something that connects them to something that wasn't legal. Drug dealing, maybe, but who knows really. They got on the wrong side of an employer…who then hired a hit man."

"You're saying our unsub was killing…for money?"

"Yes," I said. "But he didn't get much. They were all low-paying jobs, just basically him taking out the trash for some bad drug dealing friends, I'd guess, until he found the employer who wants me. There must be a higher price on me, that's why he suddenly had money at the coffee shop. He'd probably been given a decent award just for finding me and luring me into the trap, and he must have thought I was a sure target. And that explains why he was so sloppy trying to get me back so quickly. He had to get me back as soon as he could to try to appease whoever hired him…but by now, they've got to know he's failed. If I had to guess…he's either fleeing, pleading for his life, or…he's already dead."

"And you got this from the fact that he had expensive cologne?" Reid asked, looking vaguely impressed.

"And some other choice pieces of information," I said. "Like it or not, I was trained for this."

They looked at me. "Well, we need a body before we assume he's dead," Morgan said. "So until then, we're still looking for our unsub."

"I wouldn't expect anything less," I replied.

"We need to start the cognitive interview over, though," Morgan said. "Back at the coffee shop, you might've seen something that could help us find him. We need to get inside your mind a little bit more."

"Okay," I said, taking a deep breath. "Go for it."

"Alright. Take a deep breath, and close your eyes again." I did, settling back into the darkness. "You're sitting with the unsub at the coffee shop. What do you see?"

"I see the unsub, and behind him is a couple, college aged. They're studying, probably for exams."

"Good, good. Anything else."

"His car is parked a little ways down. It's white, big. Expensive."

"So he pulls his gun on you. Your senses might have been heightened with adrenaline, so these might be harder memories to pull out."

"He hides the gun under a napkin, but it's not convincing. The couple behind him….they see him…they get up and start walking away quickly. Maybe they're escaping…."

Suddenly I'm sucked into memories I didn't even remember making. The couple behind starts to quickly remove themselves from the situation, and I'm glad for them. Maybe they'll even call the police. I look back into the coffee shop and see Agent Hotchner. He's staring in my direction, but now I can see his hand moving towards his belt under his suit coat. I can see the gun in its holster. He sees I'm in trouble. I don't think any further, and I grab my coffee and slam it into the unsub's face. Then I run. But before I run, without even thinking, I glance up at the escaping couple again.

They're getting into the unsub's car. They're accomplices.

My mind's racing ahead of myself. I'm back inside the car the next day, after the unsub took me from the hospital and tied me up. There's someone else in there. Someone else breathing in the seat in front of me, and crying out shortly after one of the tires was hit with a bullet. I was drugged then, making it more difficult to remember. After that, my memory was foggy.

I relayed what I remembered to Morgan and Reid. They nodded and Reid started writing stuff down quickly. "Natalie, you've helped a lot."

"I know," I said, standing up when they did, not so smoothly because I had to wrangle with my crutches first. "But I can help more."

They looked at me questioningly as I quickly hobbled my way out of the room. I was in the heart of the BAU, and I walked over to Agent Prentiss, who was sitting at her desk pouring over some files. "Do you know where Agent Hotchner's office is?" I asked.

She looked up at me. "Did you just run out on your interview?"

"Does no one answer a straight question here?" I exclaimed. "We finished our interview. I need to see Agent Hotchner."

Prentiss looked up at me for a moment longer. "Up the stairs to the right," she finally said. "First door. I'd knock first."

"Thank you," I said, and I marched up the stairs, with difficulty, and walked straight into Agent Hotchner's room.

He was sitting at his desk, looking through files fervently, trying to find anything to help his case. He looked up, surprised to see me, and he set the files down. "Natalie, you should be sitting down in your interview—"

"I'm fine. I am not a china doll. I will not fall apart because I don't tie myself to a chair."

He looked at me. "Rough interview?"

"No," I snapped. "Just…different."

"Cognitive interviews can be a bit overwhelming," he said. "You'll get past that."

"I know I will. Because I've decided to take you up on your offer," I said before I could change my mind.

He stared me straight in the eye, and I stared back at him. His face betrayed no emotion, no feelings. Then he nodded. "I had a feeling you would."

"I want this bastard caught," I said, feeling the need to explain myself. "And I want to catch the others."

"You're in luck," he replied. "That's what we do."

"I just…I want you to appreciate that this is the most difficult decision I've had to make."

Agent Hotchner looked up at me. "If you're serious about this, I'd suggest anticipating some harder decisions in the future."

"Agent Hotchner—"

He stopped me. "Natalie, if you're going to be a part of this team, you call me Hotch."

"Then call me Nat. Or Hale. I'm guessing Hale is more professional."

He looked slightly interested. "What's wrong with Natalie?"

I shrugged. "It rubs me the wrong way, I guess." If only he actually knew.

"Well, Hale, you've got the job."

"When do I start?" I asked.

"Officially?" Hotch started. "A week, probably. You have to undergo a physical test and a psychological evaluation along with all of your previous credentials in order to be an agent. In actuality, however, you will be consulting with us immediately."

"Sounds good," I said, moving to leave the office.

"Hale?"

"Sir?"

"Even though I'm sure you're perfectly capable of not falling apart if we don't restrain you to a chair, I think I can speak for any human being with half a heart that it would just be best if you took it easy until we have any further leads."

"There has to be something else we could be doing," I said. "Anything." Hotch looked at me, and I could tell he was profiling me. I made my face unreadable as I said, "Profiling me isn't going to solve a single problem."

"No, I guess not," he said. "Sit."

"What? Here?" I asked.

"Why not? We could get you started on some paperwork."

I groaned. "That's my least favorite part of being an adult. Paperwork and signatures and taxes."

"And how long has that been? Since you've been an adult," he asked.

I grinned and then winced as I inched myself into the seat situated in front of his desk. "If you're asking how old I am, the answer is twenty-six. But I figured you knew that."

"The recommendations in your file put you at twenty-three at the time of your initial training. Everyone wanted you straight out of the Academy. What made you put the FBI behind you?"

I didn't answer for a moment. I tried to think of what to say, if there was even a way to explain myself. "Look, obviously me telling you I had a change of heart isn't going to be enough. Can't you just live with the fact that I wanted to be an agent, and then I didn't?"

"I'd like to know how you could change your mind again. You obviously turned your back on the FBI for some sort of personal reason. How come you're changing that now?"

"I want to catch this unsub. Is getting shot in the leg and kidnapped not enough motive?"

"I've watched you pretty closely over the last couple days, Hale. And I've read your file and contacted your superiors from the Academy. Revenge isn't your style. And you don't have a quick temper, so this isn't some hotheaded outburst. This is something you've thought about."

"Look," I said, and I guess something in my voice changed, because Hotch was looking at me differently. "I know everyone thinks it's because of my parents. But I never blamed the FBI for my dad's disappearance or for what happened to my mom. This was his job. It was his life. My mom and my brother and I understood that, and because of that, my mom paid a very high price. But I never blamed this place for all of the hell I got in my life. I even wanted to be an agent, because of how much I had always looked up to my dad. At the end of my twenty weeks at the Academy, something happened to make me change my mind. I got the hell away from the FBI and didn't think twice about it. Those reasons remain my own, and I do not have to share them with you. Nor will I ever want to. If you have a problem with that, then please don't sign me up as your agent."

I stared at him, daring him to throw me out of his office. I wasn't going to deal with the bull. If he wanted to dissect my brain, he could call me in as a suspect to a crime and profile me until I died. Finally he said, "Alright, Hale. I won't bother you about it anymore. Neither will any of the team."

"Thank you," I said, surprised to feel so relieved. "Do I still need to do the paperwork right now?"

"We can do that later," he said, still eyeing me differently.

"Good. Because I really need to go talk to Jason," I said. "It's time he knows about what's been going on."

"You need someone to go with you," Hotch said. "You can't be alone right now. Someone still wants you badly enough to open fire by a coffee shop."

"Fine," I replied, annoyed but understanding. "Send someone with me."

Hotch glanced at his watch. "You know what, where's your apartment?" I told him the address, and he sighed. "It's on the way to my son's school. I have to go pick him up and then drop him off at his aunt's. We can stop by your place and you can explain it to him then."

"Alright," I said. "Let's go."

"And Hale?"

"Yes, Hotch?"

"If you ever _do_ want to talk about why you avoided the FBI, just know that there's always someone who will be more than glad to listen."

I looked at him thoughtfully. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Good," he said, grabbing his badge and his Glock. "Let's go."

**NOTE: In case you didn't notice, I made a little change to the title, which makes a lot of sense if you go to my updated first chapter and read the beginning quote. My previous title (The Calm Before) no longer worked after I decided I have enough material to make a 3-installment story, and so Daring to Begin is the new one. Hope this doesn't confuse anyone. Thanks for reading!**

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	7. CHAPTER 7: An Uneasy Argument (Hotch)

CHAPTER SEVEN: AN UNEASY ARGUMENT (HOTCH)

Hale was different, that was for sure. She might have some emotional kinks to work out, but she was going to be very valuable on our team, for this case and all the ones that followed. I was eager for her to start working with us. And in time, so would the team.

She sat beside me in my car, staring out the window as the scenery rolled by. I did my best not to profile her, because there was this unspoken agreement among team members not to profile each other, but I could tell her mind was moving a million miles a minute. I didn't pry though.

"Turn on the next right," she said.

I nodded, not wanting to push her in the wrong way. I still barely knew her in a personal sense. "Do you know what you're going to say to him?"

She sighed, and turned her head to look at me. Her eyes looked tired. It registered with me how overwhelmed she must have been. Just a couple days earlier, she had been going to go get coffee with a guy she thought would make her an assistant chef. Now she had a gunshot wound in her leg, was rebounding from being drugged and nearly kidnapped before jumping out of a moving vehicle, and she had accepted a job offer from the FBI. "I figured I'd just wing it," she sighed. "Did you ever have to tell anyone something you thought might change their view of you?"

"Yes," I said, not elaborating. "Do you really think his view of you will change?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "I've never told him anything about my past, if I'm being honest with myself. I just told him my mom died and that my dad was out of the picture. I never said that he went missing on an undercover mission, or that she was brutally murdered right under my nose. He doesn't really know me. At all." She leaned her head on the window. "Maybe this relationship was doomed from the start."

I didn't know what to say. This wasn't my sort of conversation. "Maybe you should give him more credit. Give him a chance."

"I know," she sighed. "I know. I'm going to have to. And we had _just _gotten an apartment together."

"Hale," I said. She looked over at me. "If he doesn't accept you because you held back from him, he's making a mistake. Someone who's had to go through what you have deserves to keep their guard up a little. If he's worth anything, I'm sure he'll understand."

"I hope," she replied. She was twirling her hair with her left index finger. A nervous tick. She was also biting her lip, which indicated her anxiety. "It's the next building to the right, there's a parking garage you can go into."

I did as she said, pulling into a middle-class apartment building. I pulled into the parking garage below the apartments and parked the car. "Do you want me to come in with you?" Not that I'd give her a choice.

She thought about it for a moment, and then nodded. "Maybe if he hears another side of it…and telling him you saved my life might be a bonus."

"Then I'll come," I said, unbuckling my seat belt and stepping out of the car. She slid out and I followed behind her as she walked to an elevator and pressed the up button. We stood there silently as we waited for the doors to open. Once they did, she pressed number four and the elevator started to lift into the air. She was biting her lip and twirling her hair, and for a moment I feared she might draw blood or start yanking strands out of her scalp. "Hale, relax," I advised. "It is what it is. Just think of a worst case scenario and build from there."

She stared at me in disbelief. "You want me to envision the worst that could come from this?"

"It couldn't hurt."

"The hell it couldn't," she exclaimed. The elevator doors opened and she strode out, and I, trying to figure out what I said that was so wrong, followed her down the hallway. She stopped at apartment 417. After taking a deep, quiet breath, she quickly pulled at a small golden chain around her neck. She kept her key on it, and it had been painted a glittery gold color. She stuck it in the door and turned it.

Her apartment was small and neat, although not entirely moved into yet. We walked straight into a small living area with walls painted a light, bright green. "Jason?" she called out. "Jason, are you here?"

There was a clamor in a different room, and then a man emerged from behind a door. He was tall, and he look built for military. Judging by the close cut of his hair, he probably had been. He had dark brown hair, light eyes, and a beer in his hands. "Hey, Nat," he said in surprise before he saw me. "How come you're out of the hospital already?" Then he saw me, and the smile was wiped off his face. "Who's this?"

"Jason, this is Aaron Hotchner. He's the guy who saved my life."

He looked taken aback. "Oh." He paused for a moment, and then placed his beer down on the bar. He stuck out his hand, and I took it. "Thanks," he said. "This whole thing has been crazy."

"It was no problem," I replied.

"Jason, Agent Hotchner and I need to talk to you about something," Hale said. She looked at me. "Well, really, just I do."

"What is it?" Jason asked, looking at Hale in concern.

"I…Hotch, would you like a beer? There's one in the kitchen fridge."

I caught her drift. "That sounds good," I said. I found my way to the kitchen and looked in the fridge, eyeing the beer inside but not touching it. I sat at the small dining room table, and I could hear the faint sound of their voices through the wall, so I listened in.

"Jason, I need to tell you some stuff. But please don't freak out," Hale started.

"Why would I freak out?" Jason asked. "I mean, you've just been shot! What else could possibly have happened?"

"Funny you should ask that," she replied, and there was an uncomfortably long moment of silence in which I'm sure they were exchanging equally uncomfortable looks. "A while after you left the hospital…the same guy who shot me came back."

"What?" Jason exclaimed. "What the hell? Did the feds get him?"

"No," she replied, and I could hear how miserable she sounded. "He got away. But first, he drugged me and almost got away with kidnapping me. Jason, don't freak—"

"And he still got away?" Jason sounded furious. "The hell I won't freak out! God, Nat, are you okay?"

"I'm okay, Jason, just listen."

"You sound completely indifferent that he escaped, Nat!"

"You think that I don't care my attacker got away?" she exclaimed. He didn't reply. I wondered if I needed to come in, but I withheld. "You think that I enjoyed watching him drive away into the damn sunset?"

"No, Nat, I'm sorry…I didn't mean that…."

"I'm not finished talking yet, Jason," she snapped. "I haven't…I haven't been…." Her voice cracked and sputtered to a whisper.

"What? I didn't catch that, Nat, what'd you say?"

"I said I haven't been completely honest with you," she said in a louder voice. "Remember when I said that my mom was dead, and my dad was out of the picture?"

"Of course…but Nat, what does that have to do with this guy?"

"My dad went missing when I was a junior in high school, because of a mission the FBI sent him on," she blurted out quickly. "He hasn't been seen since. A year after he went missing, a man broke into our home. He murdered my mom right in front of my eyes. No one ever knew why, but I know it had to have been because of my dad." There was a long period of silence. "I'm sorry I never told you," she said so softly I almost didn't hear. "I was afraid you wouldn't see me the same—"

"In the two years we've been together…in the two months we spent moving in together…you didn't think I was trustworthy enough to share the most important events of your life with?" He sounded hurt and angry.

"Jason, you know that's not how it is."

"Why didn't you trust me?"

"I was scared, Jason," Hale said. I was stuck in the kitchen, unable to move in any direction, and this encounter was becoming much more awkward to be around by the second.

"And something tells me you told that man in our kitchen," Jason replied. "So you could tell a damn stranger, but you couldn't tell your boyfriend of two years."

"Jason! Listen to yourself! You're really going to be mad at me for not telling you the most traumatic things that have ever happened to me? You wouldn't even know!"

"Don't yell…," Jason trailed, sounding conflicted and upset. "God, don't stress yourself any more than you already are…."

"Pick a side!" she yelled. "You can't be mad and caring at the same time. I haven't even told you the whole story yet and you're already blowing up!"

"There's more?"

"Yes. Now maybe I can tell you—are you honestly going to drink a beer as I spill my guts to you? God, Jason."

"Don't judge, Nat. You're throwing a lot on me at once."

"Jason, I need you right now. Just listen. Please."

"Okay," I heard Jason say after a moment. "Okay. I'm listening."

"Four years ago, when I was eligible, I entered the FBI Academy. It was twenty weeks of really rough training, mental and physical. I got through with flying colors."

"The FBI Academy?" Jason replied. He sounded overwhelmed. "You told me you'd studied at culinary arts schools since you got out of high school!"

"I lied! There, are you happy? I lied, and I would have been a damn good agent if I hadn't decided to go in a different direction!"

"And why'd you do that?" he asked. There was a very long pause. I listened more intently, wondering if she'd reveal the big secret to her boyfriend. "Natalie, why aren't you answering me?"

"We agreed a long time ago that you wouldn't call me Natalie," she said in such a low voice I almost didn't hear her again.

"You're really going to hold more back from me?" he yelled. I was starting to get unsettled. His anger was escalating.

"Jason, stop, please," she said, and I heard something else in her voice besides annoyance, and it was something like discomfort.

"More lies? More secrets? Do you even want to be a chef? Do I really know anything about you?"

"Yes, Jay. But you need to let go of my arm, you're hurting me, and my boss is in the next room."

I started moving when I heard Jason yell, "Your boss? That FBI agent? So you're in the FBI? _Are you a freaking undercover FBI agent?_"

Hale cried out and I heard a thud. I moved my hand to my gun on instinct and rushed into the living room. Hale was on the ground, her crutches knocked over, useless. The door to the apartment was wide open. I moved to chase him—I could still hear his heavy footfalls, taking long, hurried strides. "Don't," she grumbled. I looked down at Hale, who was trying to use one crutch to haul herself off the ground. "Just don't."

I leaned down and helped her up, and she let out a stream of profanities. "Slow down there," I said, and I got her up to her feet. She leaned on her crutches and ran her fingers through her hair.

"Remember telling me to picture the worst possible scenario?" she asked. I just looked at her. "That was it. Right there. Like it was plucked straight from my brain."

"I'm sorry for letting him hurt you like that," I told her.

"Don't make it sound so bad," she sighed. "He was rushing out of the room like a pissy five-year-old prima dona and he tripped on my crutch. He'd already left the room when I hit the ground."

I didn't buy it. "Well, are you okay?"

"I'm fine. We don't want to keep your son waiting. Let's go."

"Hale—"

"Hotch, I will gladly work for you, regardless of what happens between Jason and I. But please stop asking me about my personal life. I'm sure you could profile most of it, anyway. I shouldn't have asked you to come with me. It didn't do any good."

"I'm glad I came," I said. "Me being in the kitchen might've saved you from him actually throwing a punch."

"Jason would never hit me," she exclaimed. "No matter how angry he is."

"Then explain why you were just on the ground, after being shot, and the fact that Jason just ran away afterwards," I said.

She looked at me in surprise. "You actually sound angry, Hotch."

"If you think bastards don't get me angry, Hale, then you've got me all wrong. You know, for someone about to join the Behavioral Analysis Unit, you sure aren't analyzing behavior all that well."

She glared at me. "You know I'm a damn good profiler."

"Do I? The stuff in your file only means so much. How should I know you're good in the field?"

She stared at me for a moment longer. "Jason's up to something," she said.

"What?" I asked, thrown off guard. "What do you mean?"

"He sounded so shocked and repulsed when he asked if I was undercover," she replied, shaking her head. "He thinks I've been dating him to get to the bottom of something, that I've been using him to figure out what he's been doing. That's why he left like that. I don't have the energy to think any further. Drug dealing? That would be the most probable. Arms dealing? A goddamn prostitution ring? I don't even care. That's a case for someone else. I'm out of here and done with him."

"You think he could be in drugs?"

"I don't know," she said. "I don't care. Screw him. Let's go get your son."

"Just don't say the words 'screw him' around him," I said, giving her a wry grin. "He's already learned a couple expletives from me, and I'm pretty sure his school teachers would hate it if he learned more."

She cracked a smile, too. It was a sweet smile, and I wondered how it was going to be like having someone with such raw innocence on our team. "I think I can manage that," she said. "Let me just get some things, I'll meet up with you at the car."

"I don't think so," I said. "And watch as you get kidnapped from your apartment, or shot again? I'll wait. And if your potential drug-dealing boyfriend returns, I'll be able to bring down the hammer."

"He's not my boyfriend right now, I think," she joked, and then she turned around and hurried into her bedroom. I listened for ten minutes as some banging and shuffling came from her room, and wondered what the hell she could be packing.

She came out with a suitcase in her hand and a loaded backpack resting on her shoulders. In her other hand, she had an empty carrying case, which seemed out of place. All this, and she was juggling her crutches as well. "I hope Jason has enough illegally earned money to pay his own damn rent," she muttered. "Now I just have to find Carrot."

I looked at her as if she were insane. Which would have been very unfortunate, seeing as I'd just hired her for an elite position in the FBI. "You want to stall our departure…for a carrot?"

"Not _a_ carrot. Carrot. She's Jason's cat, but she's basically mine. I'm not leaving her with him, he forgets to feed her all the time."

"Her name is Carrot?"

"My niece named her." Hale disappeared into another room and came out holding a bright orange tabby in her arms. "Hotch, meet Carrot."

"I'm good," I said.

She grinned. "Can you put her in her carrier?"

"Are you serious?" I asked.

"Hello? Girl on crutches here. I'm also hoping you'll carry the suitcase."

"Hand me the cat," I grumbled, and I deposited the furry mass into the carrier. It meowed as I zipped it up, and I grabbed her suitcase as well. "Let's go."

She started walking down the hall in her crutches, and I tried not to shake the cat carrier. I hated cats.

Once we had started on our way to Jack's school, Hale immediately took out her phone and started furiously looking stuff up on the Internet. After a couple minutes of this, she dialed a number and put the phone to her ear. "Hello, I was wondering if you have any vacancies tonight? Tourist season? So you don't have anything? No, that's fine, thank you." I looked over at her as she groaned.

"Searching for hotels?" I asked.

"God, this is kind of difficult, you know? I've never just picked up and left with a suitcase in one hand and a cat in the other. I didn't really think about where to go. There's a hotel in this town with an empty room, there's got to be." She frantically flipped through her phone again.

"Don't worry about it," I said. "You can stay with Prentiss until you've got a place. She'll be glad to let you, I'm sure."

"No, that's not necessary, I don't mind getting a hotel room."

"Actually, it's completely necessary. Maybe your memory's been altered, but you just had a bullet surgically removed from your leg prior to being drugged and kidnapped by a man who is working for someone who wants you, dead or alive we really don't know."

"We're assuming alive," she said grudgingly.

"That's not the point. The point is that someone has been targeting you, and as a federal agent I have a legal obligation to offer you some sort of protection."

Hale looked at me, a gleam in her eye. "Hotch, I've kept a knife on me since the day my mom died, and the day I turned twenty-one, when most kids would be hitting up bars, I started the process of getting a concealed weapons permit. I'm not helpless."

"Where were those weapons when you were being shot at?" I asked.

"The gun was in my car. My knife was…hidden somewhere that I didn't have easy access to."

I didn't say anything to that.

"The point is, I don't really need to stay with one of your agents. I'll be fine," Hale assured me.

I looked over at Hale, narrowing my eyes slightly. "You signed on to be on my team, Hale, which means that Prentiss is not just one of 'my agents'. She will be part of your team as well. And your team needs you safe. So you will be staying with Prentiss until this case is closed. Do I make myself clear?"

Hale looked a little annoyed and frustrated, but she just nodded. "Perfectly."

I nodded back to her, turned my head back towards the road, and continued driving.

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	8. CHAPTER 8: A Hit Close to Home (Hale)

CHAPTER EIGHT: A HIT CLOSE TO HOME (HALE)

I didn't even know Emily Prentiss. She had barely spoken to me. I mean yeah, she played a pretty important part in saving my life. But that didn't mean we were braiding each others' hair and talking about boys. And now Hotch was going to make me stay with her.

I'd just split with my boyfriend of two years, stolen his cat, and rendered myself homeless. I just wanted to get a hotel room for a week or two and eat ice cream and watch stupid movies. And Prentiss didn't seem like the kind of woman who'd care to do that with me.

My leg was really bothering me, and I needed some painkillers. I glanced at Hotch, who was talking on his phone with Jack's principal, trying to explain why he was running an hour late to pick up his son. I felt bad. It was my fault. I took advantage of his distraction by rifling through my purse for the painkilling, lifesaving drugs. I pulled out some Advil and tried to discreetly empty some into my hand.

Hotch's hand came out of nowhere and swiped the bottle from my hand. He had hung up the phone, and was looking at me like I was insane. "You were prescribed drugs from the hospital. Don't mix and match."

"I can't take those for two more hours," I complained. "One Advil isn't going to land me in the ER."

"It's also not going to help you with the pain," Hotch reasoned. I sighed, knowing he was right. My leg still throbbed mercilessly, and I knew I shouldn't have put so much stress on it so soon. "Don't worry, we'll get you back to the BAU soon, and you can meet up with Prentiss there."

"Are we even sure she'll be there?" I asked.

"Of course she will."

"Does she know about her new housemate?"

Hotch looked at me. "No. She won't bite, you know."

"She just doesn't seem…friendly."

Hotch cracked a grin. "You just need to warm up to her, and vice versa."

"And the rest of the team? You guys…you really seem like a family. I don't like the idea of being the awkward addition to the team. And it's not just a selfish reason. I don't want my discontinuity to disrupt the amazing work that you guys do. If you don't feel like a team, I doubt you can work like a team."

Hotch looked at me as he pulled into an elementary school. "Look, even if I was worried about you not easily blending into the BAU family, I wouldn't even think twice about the efficiency of my team. They're the best of the best, and they'd catch the unsubs even if they were paired with the worst team member the FBI had to offer. It's in their blood to do anything for justice."

"And it's in mine," I said, almost revelatory.

"And that's why I think you'll mesh well with the team." We rolled up to the pick-up spot. One little boy was waiting by a severe looking woman with gray hair tied into a knot at the back of her neck. Hotch rolled down his window and the woman walked up. "Mr. Hotchner, you're an hour late. I'm here to ensure it doesn't happen again."

"It won't," he said. "C'mon, buddy, hop in the back."

A little boy, maybe six or seven, crawled into the backseat. He had brown hair and big eyes, and he was the absolute picture of cuteness. He looked at me and his eyes went wide. "Daddy, why does she have so many cuts and bruises?"

Hotch looked at me as I glanced at myself in the mirror. To my eyes, and no doubt to his, I didn't look too bad. But to a little kid, I must've looked like a nightmare. "She was helping me catch the bad guys, Jack," Hotch said.

"Woah," Jack said, his mouth open in awe. "You fight bad guys with Daddy?"

I grinned. "I do now."

"Did he have a gun?" Jack asked.

"Jack, don't ask questions like that," Hotch reprimanded.

"All the bad guys have guns," his son replied. "That's why the good guys wear those big jackets. They're kind of like life savers."

"They're exactly like that," I said. "You're pretty smart for a little boy."

"Why are you with my daddy?"

"He's helping me out. It's kind of my first day on the job."

"And you're already getting hurt?"

"No, no," I said. "I'm not really that hurt. It just looks bad because I'm tired. Everyone looks worse when they're sleepy."

"Oh. Well you should go to bed then. You need to be better if you're going to fight bad guys."

I glanced at Hotch, who was grinning slightly. "Did I mention he was pretty smart?"

"He gets it from his mother," he said.

"She must be lovely," I said absentmindedly, glancing at my phone to see the time.

"She was," Hotch said, and by the shift in his voice I could tell I had just intruded on some very personal territory. I was saved by Carrot, though, who chose that moment to let out a soft meow.

"Is there a cat in there?" Jack asked, pointing at Carrot's carrier.

"Yep. She's mine," I said. "She's really sweet."

"What's her name?" Jack asked.

"Carrot," I replied.

"Ew. Why would you name a cat after a vegetable?"

"I didn't name her," I said. "But later, if your dad doesn't mind, you can hold her. She's really sweet."

"Carrots aren't sweet," Jack argued.

"This one is," I said. Carrot meowed again. "See? She agrees."

"We're almost to the house," Hotch said. "Jack, when we get there your aunt's going to pick you up, okay? I have a case to work, but I'll come see you as soon as it's over."

"Okay, Daddy," Jack said. "Good luck. Catch the bad guy."

"We will, buddy."

I stayed in the car as Hotch walked his son to their front door and gave him a hug before handing him off to his aunt. It was definitely a personal thing I didn't need to get involved in, even if I physically could have. I thought about how Hotch had said his wife _was _lovely. Something had happened with him, something horrible. I supposed I wasn't the only person in the world who'd lost someone close to me.

He walked back to the car and got in. He watched as Jack's aunt buckled him into the booster seat of her car and they drove away. "It never gets easier," he said. "Being a dad is harder than being an FBI agent."

"He seems like a really good kid," I said. "You had to have done something right."

"I hope so," Hotch said. He watched the car disappear behind a corner. "Well, back to the BAU I guess."

"Are cats allowed?" I asked, completely serious.

Hotch just gave one of his usual dry grins, and cranked up the car.

Back at the BAU, the team was still doing their best to put together a profile for the unsub. But he was proving difficult to peg. So many of his traits were inconsistent with the previous profile. One moment, he was ADD and completely broke. Another, he was extremely focused and bursting at the seams with money. He was all over the place. Which could have pointed towards an obsessive need to please his boss, leading to his employment of many different methods to get the job done. If he was even on the job anymore. It was my personal opinion that he was dead or as good as, but no one was listening.

"Prentiss!" Hotch exclaimed as we walked into the bullpen. The dark-haired woman walked up to us.

"Yeah Hotch?"

"Hale is staying with you for the time being. You're her protective detail. Plus she's currently on the market for a place to live, and you happen to have a spacious apartment with lots of empty rooms."

Prentiss looked at me for a moment. "Sure thing," she said finally. "But I hope you like mint chocolate chip. I'm kind of an ice cream freak."

I breathed a sigh of relief as Hotch nodded and walked up to his office. "Thank God," I said. "I was really scared you might be one of those health freaks."

"Prentiss? A health freak?" Agent Morgan laughed, joining us.

"Sorry, sweetie, that's like saying a fish could just decide to cut water out of its life," the quirky tech analyst Penelope Garcia said, who had been following Morgan around.

I grinned. "Yes, well, it was a legitimate concern."

Agent Rossi came up and sat on Morgan's desk. "How's that leg doing, Hale?"

"It's been better," I admitted. "But I'm alive, so I'm really trying hard not to complain."

"Silver lining, kid," he said, and then he got up and started walking away.

There was a huge commotion in JJ's office and suddenly she was running out towards the stairs. "Guys, we have a huge problem!"

Immediately the team gathered in the bullpen, and Hotch was hurrying down from his office. "JJ, what do you have?"

"There's been another murder matching our unsub's type, and an abduction."

"An abduction?" Hotch asked. "That's not the M.O. Our unsub killed on the spot, he never took anyone."

"He…," JJ started, and then she glanced over in my direction. "Oh my God, Hale! You're here! I didn't see…."

I looked at her, confused. "Yeah, I'm here. What does that have to do with your information?"

JJ looked at me, her eyes big. She took a deep breath, and the look in her eyes was of complete pity. "Hale…it's your sister-in-law. She's the victim."

The rest of the team looked at JJ in shock, but I couldn't even see them. I couldn't breathe. My crutch slipped out from underneath my arm and I stumbled, catching myself on the desk. Immediately someone's hands were on me, helping me into a chair. When I looked up, I saw it was Agent Morgan, and he was saying something to me but I just couldn't hear. After a moment of feeling like I was being sucked into a black hole, I choked out, "My brother?"

"He's okay," JJ said, but I could tell she was leaving something out.

"The kids," I breathed. "They have two kids. They have a five-year-old girl and a six-month-old baby boy. Emma and Dylan. Are they okay?"

"Hale…." JJ started.

"Don't hide it from me!" I exclaimed. "I asked if they were okay, and I need to know."

"Emma's missing," JJ finally said. "Local police believe she was kidnapped by the same man who murdered Rachel Hale."

I thought about my niece. She was a tiny little girl, who wore glasses and always had her hair in two black braids. She had big blue eyes and freckles on her nose. She had asthma. I put my head in my hands, trying not to cry.

"Hale, we're going to find him," Morgan said. "Do you hear? We're going to get him."

"If he hurts Emma…," I trailed. "Oh, God, this is because of me. He targeted my family. They're all I have, I can't lose them. Oh my God, Rachel."

"Hotch, she's in shock," I heard Dr. Reid tell his boss.

"Prentiss, get her to your apartment," Hotch commanded. "Keep her out of this."

"That's my family, Agent Hotchner," I exclaimed, leaning on my good leg to stand up. Morgan grabbed my elbow, but I shook him off. "That's my sister-in-law! That's my niece!"

"I know," Hotch said, looking me in the eye. "And I know this is the last thing you expected. But you cannot work this case any further. You are far too personally involved."

I tried not to let tears fall from my eyes, but I could still feel them pooling up. "She's five years old, Hotch," I said quietly, my voice cracking. "Rachel sent me a picture of her a week ago. She just learned how to ride a bike. She was so happy. She…she's just five…." My head sunk into my hands one more time, and my shoulders quaked.

A soft pair of hands landed on my shoulder. "Hale, come on, we should go to my apartment," Prentiss said. Her voice was soft, and I knew she was trying her hardest to be comforting.

I looked up at her, my body feeling drained. "Do you allow cats?" I asked weakly.

She cracked the smallest of grins. "I have one of my own. His name's Sergio."

"I have one too. Carrot."

"Cute name," Prentiss said. She picked my crutches up off the ground and offered me a hand. I took it and let her haul me to my feet. She handed me my crutches and said, "Are you ready?"

I nodded, and shakily I started hobbling after her. I was breathing heavily by the time I'd even passed by the road of desks. "Okay, this is ridiculous," Morgan finally exclaimed. "Someone get her a damn wheelchair."

"No way," I said. "I don't like being constrained."

"Just till you get to the apartment," Morgan said. "C'mon, sweetheart, you can't help your family by putting too much stress on your body."

"We'll head to North Dakota first thing in the morning," Hotch announced, causing us all to look up. "Wheels up at seven A.M. Don't be late. Hale, you're coming with us. Not to work the case, but to help out your family."

"I know."

"Good. Now go try to get some sleep. I…." He stumbled over his words for a moment. "I'm truly sorry for your loss. And we're going to do everything in our power to find Emma and bring her back." I ran my fingers through my hair, not buying it. "Hey, Hale. We're going to find her."

"C'mon, let's go," Prentiss said. Reid was rolling a wheelchair into the room, and I immediately shied away.

"It's humiliating!" I said. "The only family I have is being torn apart and I'm about to be _wheeled_ out of the BAU, the only place with people that can help us. I'm like…an invalid."

"Hale, you need to take it easy," Prentiss said. "Now come on, my car's out back."

I sighed as Reid and Morgan helped lower me into the wheelchair. I carried the crutches across my lap and let Prentiss take me to her car.

"Agent Prentiss?" I asked hesitantly.

"Call me Emily," she said quickly.

"Emily, tell me what you think. What do you think he wants Emma for?"

"I don't know."

"Please. Please don't lie to me. That's my niece. She's so defenseless, so helpless. And she's everything to my brother. So I want to know the truth. What do you think he wants Emma for?"

Prentiss stopped the wheelchair by a small dark four-door and helped me out of it into the passenger seat of her car. She then took the time to load my stuff into her car before answering. "It's too soon to tell, Hale," she said. "It's not his thing, kidnapping. He murders, that's it. We don't have any pattern for this. He's messing up his whole profile."

She loaded up the wheelchair into the backseat and then started driving towards her apartment. I stared out the window, unwilling to speak. It was too painful to even think about it. I just wanted my brain to turn off.

When we got to Prentiss' apartment, I let her lead me to the nearest guest bedroom and locked myself up for the night. I was barely conscious. I couldn't have even told you what color my sheets were. The moment my head hit the pillow, I was asleep.

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	9. CHAPTER 9: A Long Flight (Hotch)

CHAPTER NINE: A LONG FLIGHT (HOTCH)

I didn't sleep much that night. I stayed up late in the office, trying to find anything that could help us locate this unsub once and for all. For the safety of any future victims, for the mental health of our team, and for Hale.

Rossi knocked on my office door at midnight. "Aaron, you need to sleep. Wheels up at seven, remember?"

"I know. I'm just looking over case files, trying to get some sort of hold on this guy. The body count is growing and now he's abducted a little girl. Who knows what he could be doing to Emma right now."

"If that little girl is anything like Hale, she'll be fine," Rossi said. "We'll find him. You know we will."

"I know. But what if we find him and Emma's dead."

"Aaron, you can't work too hard on this. You need to be clear-minded tomorrow," Rossi said.

"I got Garcia to look up Emma Hale," I said, looking at Rossi. "She has asthma, she relies on glasses to see…she's the epitome of an easy target."

"Don't tear yourself up over this," Rossi said. "We're going to find her. The unsub has to be holding her for a reason."

"Hale's going to want to work this one," I said, taking a deep breath. "And I just got a letter that gave me the go ahead from the superiors. She's a member of our team now."

"Wouldn't you, if you were in her shoes?" Rossi asked. He grabbed his coat and stepped out of the office. "Go home. Get some sleep. We'll look over the cases on the flight."

He left, and I knew he was right. I gathered my things and turned off the light in my office. There was no point worrying over this tonight. Tomorrow was when the real hunting began.

On the jet the next morning, I couldn't help but notice that Hale looked horrible. There were bags under her eyes, and she was favoring her good leg far more than she had been earlier. She was wearing black slacks and a loose fitting scarlet v-neck shirt, which showcased a few bruises and scratches on her arms and neck. They were fading, but paired with her tired complexion they just made her look worse. She stayed close to Prentiss, obviously trying to latch onto a character of strength in her moment of weakness. I didn't blame her. Prentiss emanated strength, and Hale needed some of that.

She sat silently as we discussed the case as sensitively as possible. She looked away when JJ gave us the picture of Rachel Hale's bloodied body. I wondered if it was possible that she'd be sick, but she just turned her white face away and stared out into the clouds.

We were able to put together a new loose profile of our unsub. He was dependent on whoever he worked for, more potently to his current employer. He had a need to please his boss, most likely indicating a negligent parental unit as a child or no parents at all, causing him to latch on to others for support.

We skipped the focus on victimology. We all knew what everyone was thinking. They were targeted because they were directly related to Natalie Hale. Nothing much else to think about.

"Why the girl?" Reid finally asked, putting out the question none of us wanted to ask in front of Hale. "Why not take the baby?"

"Maybe he doesn't want her dead?" Morgan offered. "A baby would be harder to keep alive, especially when it's still so dependent on the parents."  
"That's not a solid reason, though."

"Maybe there's a…sexual motive," Rossi said hesitantly. I glanced at Hale, who closed her eyes and, if possible, turned whiter.

"There's nothing to indicate that, though," I said. "That doesn't fit with the profile at all."

"Our unsub has already demonstrated inconsistencies with the profile," Reid said.

"If it's not for the need to keep the hostage alive, and it's not a sexual motive, both of which we can neither confirm nor deny, then…why?" Prentiss asked.

"I've never met Dylan," Hale said softly. There was a tangible shift in the air when she spoke. They were the first words any of us had heard her say all day. We all looked at her, noticing as for the first time, she tried to make eye contact with us. "I haven't seen my brother or his family in a year. Dylan was born six months ago. I was going to try to make it up there for his first birthday, and Daniel and Rachel sent me pictures of him and Emma almost every week. But I've only ever met Emma, when they sent her down to me for a couple weeks while they went away for a three year anniversary vacation."

"So you think that the unsub took her because you were closer to her than to Dylan?" Morgan asked.

"It's not true," she said. "I love them both equally, even though I've never seen Dylan in person. But yes, I think that's it. I just don't understand why he didn't take Daniel. He's my brother. If they want to find my dad, he'd be just as useful as me in finding him. Which isn't very useful at all."

"Hale, do you know why our unsubs want to find your father so badly?" I asked. "Do you know anything about the mission he was on, or any important information he might have had? Something to make someone kill to find him?"

"He never told us anything," she said quietly. "He told us the FBI was basically just lots of paperwork and stuff. I think he wanted us to think he wasn't doing anything dangerous. One day he went away for a business trip, said a foreign office needed some help. I didn't think anything of it, and he didn't say anything else. I was sixteen, all I cared about was that he brought me a home a present and didn't ask too many questions about my boyfriends. A month went by without hearing a single thing from him, and some feds came to our house and told us the truth. Dad was off the grid, missing and presumed dead, something dangerous, blah blah…I didn't really care what they meant, I just cared he was gone. But I never knew anything specific about his mission."

"Was anyone privy to that information?" JJ asked.

"They never told anyone anything," Hale snapped. "Even after what happened to my mom. They gave me and Daniel a pat on the back, sent me to a foster home for a year, and then when I turned eighteen I used the money I got from my parents' will to go to Yale and I never looked back."  
"So you think what happened to your mom was directly related to what happened to your dad?" Reid asked.

I watched as Hale looked like she wanted to glare at him, but didn't have the energy to. "Yes, I do. But this is about Rachel and Emma, not…not what happened ten years ago. I've tried so hard to let go of that. I can't reopen that box right now, less than twenty-four hours after learning Rachel's dead and Emma's gone…."

"Alright, that's enough," I agreed. "Hale, don't push yourself. Like I said, you're not on this case. Everything you can tell us about your family will help, but you're here on this plane so that you can be with your brother and nephew."

She nodded, and continued to look out the window.

We continued to discuss the case until the jet touched down in North Dakota. Hale got up to her crutches and Prentiss helped her hop her way off the plane. Two cars were waiting to take us to Daniel Hale's home, and I got into the driver's seat of the car that Hale was in. She sat in the passenger seat, as it was easiest for her to get into that side. She looked terrible, like if someone barely touched her she'd fall apart.

The moment Hale saw her brother, he ran up to her and threw his arms around her, her head burying into his shoulder. He had been crying, but the team and I could tell he was trying to sober up for Hale, who by that point was looking like a brief gust of wind could knock her over. Daniel was taller than Hale by a foot, with the same colored hair and eyes. They were obviously close, and obviously related.

"Where's the baby?" Hale asked as they broke apart.

"He's with Rachel's parents," Daniel replied.

"Oh, Dan," Hale muttered. "I'm so sorry. These people here are going to do everything they can to find him."

"Is it the same guy who shot you?" Daniel asked, the anger and indignation clear in his voice. "The one who took Emma and killed Rachel, is he the one who shot you and tried to kidnap you? Is that why you came with them?" He pointed over at the team.

Hale took her brother's face in her hands. "I don't know, Daniel. But that's what we think. He…he wants information on Dad."

"Dad?" Daniel asked, recoiling from her in shock. "My wife was killed and my daughter was kidnapped because someone wants information on a dead man?"  
"Dan, we don't really know if he's dead—"

"You're not still suffering from the delusion that he's out there alive, are you Nat?" Daniel asked angrily.

"That's not important, Dan," Hale exclaimed. "Please, you're in shock and you're grieving and you're tired, let's just go back to wherever you're staying and wait for the FBI to come up with a lead."

"I will not sit and wait!" he yelled, and Hale flinched. "I'm sorry Nat, but you just don't understand."

I watched as Hale looked like she'd been hit in the stomach. "They're my family too, Dan," she said carefully, placing a hand on his cheek. "I care too."

The look on Daniel's face softened. "I know. I'm sorry, Nat—"

"No. Don't you dare be sorry, Dan," she said, and she brought her brother back down for a hug.

When they pulled apart, I walked up to Daniel. "Agent Aaron Hotchner," I said, extending my hand. Daniel shook it firmly. "I'm the unit chief of the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit. This is my team, Agents David Rossi, Derek Morgan, Emily Prentiss, Jennifer Jareau, and Dr. Spencer Reid." I pointed to each, who nodded as I said their names. "We're here to help. Agent Hale is one of our team as well, but as this case hits close to home with her, she can't approach it without bias, and she'll be sitting this one out with you."

To my surprise, Daniel cracked a grin. "You finally did it, Nat? Became an agent? I knew it was only a matter of time."

"You're not mad?" Hale asked, shocked. "I thought…after Dad…."

"Nat, you were born to kick all the bad guys' asses. I've known ever since what happened at that foster home—"

"Dan," she cut him off.

"I'm sorry, I know you don't like to talk—"

"Dan," she said sternly, again. "You should be with Dylan right now."

"You're right," he said. "C'mon, let's go in my car."

"Wait," I said. "Hale, let Prentiss go with you. You still can't be alone, especially now."

"Would he really come back? Now?" Hale asked.

"We don't know, Hale, you know that. We're just playing it safe."

"Alright."

Prentiss walked over to them and they loaded up into the car. I watched as they all drove away.

Once they were gone, I turned to the rest of the team. "We've got work to do."

**Thanks so much for the continued support! Keep on commenting, because I love the feedback, all of it! Thanks a million :)**


	10. CHAPTER 10: A Blast to the Past (Hale)

CHAPTER TEN: A BLAST TO THE PAST (HALE)

I was running down the hospital hallway, pumping my arms as fast as they'd go. He was on my tail, about to catch up to me. "We don't need you screaming, do we Natalie Hale?" he wailed, and there were gunshots. My leg crumpled beneath me, and I was helpless on the ground as he straddled me and pointed a gun at my head. "We're going to kill you, Natalie Hale. Just like we killed Rachel. And your mother. Just like how we're going to kill Emma." He cocked the gun and as he pulled the trigger I woke up screaming.

"Nat!" I heard my brother yell, running into my room. "Nat, are you alright?" Prentiss was right behind him, her gun out.

"I'm sorry," I gasped, sitting up and running my fingers through my hair. "I'm so sorry, I had a nightmare. I didn't mean to scare you."

Prentiss put her gun away and Daniel sat on the bed. He put an arm around me and told me it'd be okay. I felt sick. "You shouldn't be the one telling me it'll be okay," I whispered.

"You're my family, too. And you're in pain. I'm sorry I couldn't be there for you when you almost died, Nat. I don't think I could've handled it if you had left me…and then this…."

"Dan, we're going to find Emma, okay?" I said, looking at my brother. His eyes reflected the deep pain he was feeling. "We're going to save her. I will make damn sure of it, do you hear me?"

"I know you will, Nat," Dan said, kissing the top of my head. He stood up. "Go back to sleep. You need rest."

I waited for him to leave the room and then I started to get up. "Hale, what're you doing?" Prentiss asked.

"I need to talk to Hotch," I said.

"It's three thirty in the morning. He's probably asleep."

"I need to talk to him," I said frantically. "I have to be on this case, Emily, I have to. I can't just stand here while my family is being ripped apart. I have to."

"Hale…."

"He murdered Rachel. He has a five-year-old girl with him. And I am a good profiler, I can help. He can't keep me away from this, not when I could be such an asset."

"It's not a good idea," she said.

"Maybe not. But you guys will need me, I know you will."

"Go back to sleep," Prentiss said after a pause. "We can figure this out in the morning."

She started to walk out of the room. "Wait. Emily."

"Yeah?" she asked, turning around at the doorway.

"You can call me Nat," I said hesitantly. "If you want. Obviously at work, people go for Hale because it sounds more badass, but—"

"Nat," Prentiss said. "Relax." She winked at me and then left the room, closing the door on her way out.

* * *

The next morning, Prentiss agreed to take me to Hotch. I had one chance to make him let me work the case. One shot. I didn't know what I was going to say to make him let me help, but I was going to try.

They were at the local police department, going over crime scene photos and other physical evidence. Hotch was the first to look up as I walked in. Slowly but surely I was able to put more weight on my leg. I didn't spend much time cheering over it though. Rachel was still dead and Emma was still missing. "Hale, what are you doing here? Why aren't you with your brother?"

"I need to talk to you," I said. "Privately."

He looked at me for a moment. "Alright. Let's go outside."

I nodded and followed him outside. The local police officers stared at me as I walked by, either with pity or interest I wasn't really sure. I tried to ignore them and pushed through the doors that lead to the front of the building. He stood out by the parking lot and looked at me. "Hotch, I—"

"Stop, Hale. I know what you're going to ask, and the answer's no."

"You can't keep me away from this," I replied calmly.

"I can, and I will," he reiterated. "I realize the pain you're in right now, but you're too biased. It's a conflict of interest. Your heart is going to screw around with your common sense, and when it comes down to it, I can't let that happen."

"What if it was Jack?" I snapped, knowing I was being needlessly heartless. "I know you wouldn't just sit back and let the rest of the team find him. Emma might not be my child, but she's the closest thing I have to one and I know I'd do the same things for her that you'd do for your son."

Hotch gave me a look that seemed torn between annoyance and dry amusement. "Two days on the job, and you're already trying to disobey a direct command?"

"I don't even have a badge," I argued. "I'm hardly an official agent."

"Don't use that as an excuse to tag along."

He knew he'd used the wrong words as much as I did. "You think I'm just tagging along?" I exclaimed. "Look, I won't do any of the heavy lifting, so to speak. Obviously, I can't. But you know I'm a good profiler, and I can help you. Just…let me do something. Anything. Even the smallest little job. Hell, I'll do your coffee runs if it gets me in on the case." He looked at me, and I stared back. "Stop profiling me," I snapped. Now I was the annoyed one.

"I'm not," he defended. "I'm trying to figure out if you can _resist _doing the heavy lifting."

"If it'll help my family, yes," I said.

I waited for what felt like hours for his response. "Fine," he said. "You can assist. But you will not go in the field, in your current state, and you cannot do anything too strenuous. You'll be restricted to utilizing only your profiling skills. Am I clear?"

"Crystal," I replied, but I gave him a small grin. He nodded, and we made our way back inside.

"Wait," he said, before we walked inside. I stopped, looking at him. "Your brother said something about a foster home. What was that about?"

I froze, trying to keep my face relaxed. I tucked a loose piece of hair behind my ear. "Um…." My voice trailed, and for the first time, I felt genuinely uncomfortable in front of Hotch.

"Huh," he said, his eyes narrowing in thought. "This is the first time you haven't tried to cover the truth with a smokescreen. What happened?"

"It's in my records," I said finally, knowing there was no way I'd ever be able to hide everything. This was the FBI after all, they didn't just let anyone walk through the doors, carry a gun, and wear a badge. "I'm sure you'll have to go over them before you officially sign me up anyway."

"I'd rather hear it from you," he said, looking at me carefully.

"Is this really pertinent to what's going on right now?" I asked, stressed.

"Anything that's happened in your family is pertinent to this case," Hotch replied. "I wouldn't be prying into your personal life if it wasn't."

I sighed, moving my eyes away from him. "I don't like to talk about it," I mumbled.

"I gathered that."

I paused a moment longer. "Daniel was in college at the time, across the country. He wanted to come take care of me, but he loved school so much and I didn't want to take that away from him. I told him I'd do the foster care thing for a year. It wasn't even a year, it was like eight months. I got set up with a family who had three other foster kids. I wasn't even the oldest, there was another boy a couple months older."

"So what happened?" Hotch asked again.

"The man who took us in…wasn't very nice," I started.

"He was abusive," Hotch stated, not a question, and I saw the telltale pity in his eyes.

"Especially to the girls. There were two of us. He…he just wasn't a good man. Wasn't right in the head, you know. I didn't tell anyone…but when I saw Daniel again he saw the bruises and immediately knew. He pressed charges, got him put away for a while…."

"I'm sorry, Hale," Hotch said as my voice trailed. "I didn't want to have to dig up old, painful memories."

"They're with me all the time, Hotch," I sighed. "It'll be worth it if we can find this guy before he can do any more damage." I turned around and walked away from him. I couldn't hear him behind me. "Are you coming?"

"In a minute, I've got to make a call."

"Okay," I replied. "I'll see you inside."

He nodded and turned away.

I walked back in, a little shaken from revealing such a dark part of my life. It'd been a long time since I had taken a look at _that_ particular skeleton in my closet. I needed to shake it off though. I couldn't dwell on my crappy background while I was trying to locate Rachel's killer and Emma's abductor.

It was time to crack down. I was in the FBI now, and it was about damn time I acted like it.

**Sorry this one was so short! More to come soon! Comment, Follow...you know the drill :)**


	11. CHAPTER 11: A Malevolent Suspect (Hotch)

CHAPTER ELEVEN: A MALEVOLENT SUSPECT (HOTCH)

I watched Hale as she crutched her way back inside the police department. When I bumped into her at the coffee shop that day, I never would have expected her to have experienced so much horror in her life. She seemed so...put together. But her father, her mother, now her sister-in-law and niece…and a man had abused her as well. I took out my phone and dialed Garcia's number.

"Speak and be heard, mortal."

"Garcia, can you email me a copy of Natalie Hale's file?"

"Why do I always see 'Morgan' instead of 'Hotch' when you call? Sorry for the unprofessional dialogue there. Again. And sure thing, boss. On its way now."

"Make sure it has everything about her from the day her father went missing until now. I mean everything you've got, Garcia."

"I sure hope you don't expect anything less," she replied.

"Thanks."

I hung up and hurried inside the building. I walked up to the nearest police officer. "Do you have a printer and a computer available?" I asked.

"Yes, sir," he responded, and he proceeded to show me to a copying room. A computer sat on a small desk inside, and so did a printer. I thanked him and quickly opened my email. I extracted Natalie Hale's file from my inbox and quickly printed it out. Then I deleted all the information and pocketed the file.

I went to go find Rossi. He was speaking with the local police chief. When he saw me, he said something quickly to the chief and walked over to me. "Need something, Aaron?"

"I need an hour to review Natalie Hale's file so that I can give her a badge."

Rossi grinned. "So you've decided to let her in on this case?"

"I've decided to give her a badge," I said. "Can you buy me an hour, maybe less?"

"Consider it done."

I thanked him and searched on my phone for the nearest coffee shop. It was within walking distance, and so I decided it was time to stretch my legs. For a moment, I thought about how Haley had always wanted me to be a bit more active, despite the fact that I was constantly on the move for my job. She wanted to take walks, ride bikes, all the family things. I'd have done anything to go back and try again. Anything.

The coffee shop was a locally owned joint called The Beanie, and very few people were in it. I ordered my usual drink and sat in a corner, finally opening the file that had been burning in my pocket since I'd gotten my hands on it.

I went through her childhood first. It was fairly average for a little girl. Ballet until she was five, gymnastics until she was ten. Track team star for three years. She had a private education through tenth grade, after which she attended a local public school. No living grandparents, aunts, or uncles. Just her father, mother, and brother.

After she'd been notified of her father's disappearance, a few bumps in the road came into her life. A few speeding tickets, a couple misdemeanors. Nothing too serious. Just a teenaged girl lashing out at the world for taking her father away from her. Her brother had gone to college, it was just Hale and her mom.

After that it got more complicated. There was a paper with a copy of Hale's statement the day her mother was murdered. I read it with a certain degree of horror. She had seen every moment of it firsthand.

_We were watching a movie. The Lion King. It's a childhood favorite. We heard a knock on the door and I went to answer it. I didn't look through the peephole because our neighbors are always really friendly and stopping by to see us, especially after my dad went missing. But it wasn't a neighbor. A man in a ski mask grabbed me the moment I opened the door and put a knife to my throat. I screamed for my mom but he pushed the knife harder against my throat and I stopped. My mom ran into the room and begged him to let me go. He said he'd make a trade—my life for another. My mom ignored him and just kept begging him to let me go, and somehow she got him to. He threw me down onto the ground and I scrambled for the phone. The moment I dialed 911, he was plunging his knife into my mom. He stabbed her twelve times before she finally stopped screaming, and by that time I had finished my 911 call. It took another ten stabs for her to finally die. There was blood everywhere, even on me from ten feet away, and I was trying to get her to wake up. He moved towards me with the knife, and he was so close I could see the color of his eyes, an almost black-brown, but the sirens sounded, and he bolted. _

I held my breath and turned the page of the file. It was a record of Hale going into the foster system for a year. And the next page after that showed me what I had been most anxious to see.

Natalie Hale was put into the foster home of Jarrod and Michaela Harris. Along with Hale they had three other foster kids: Jamal Gordon, Lily Brighton, and Keeton Peterson. It showed the record of Jarrod Harris' arrest two months after Hale got out of the foster system. He was charged with the physical and sexual assault of his foster kids, and there were descriptions of what he'd done to them included in the file.

First I glanced at the boys. They'd sustained minor physical injuries, and they'd mostly just been beaten around. The worst was a broken wrist sustained by Jamal. The girls were a different story. I glanced at Lily Brighton's statements, and was surprised to read her story. Apparently, she had first been the object of Jarrod's abuse. He frequently threw punches and molested her. When Hale got wind of this, Brighton stated, she did everything to protect the younger girl, included standing right in front of him as he attempted to bust her skull in. After constant attempts to stop him from further hurting Brighton, he turned the force of his abuse towards Hale. She reported multiple beatings that ended with the boys needing to take her to nearby walk-in clinics, each one different so that nothing was suspected. Along with the beatings, she reported frequent molestation, something it seemed she had refused to speak much about. When asked why she hadn't come to anyone earlier, she told the police that Jarrod Harris had threatened kill Lily, and Hale said she couldn't let that happen. She dealt with it for the whole of her experience in the foster system.

The day she turned eighteen, she saw her brother, who immediately suspected abuse. Even though she told him not to, he called Jarrod Harris and yelled at him. When Daniel went to the police, Hale knew Harris would take it out on Lily. She rushed back to the foster home to find Jarrod attacking Lily, and she quickly overpowered him with a knife and a jump rope that had been lying around. She was waiting for them, prisoner in hand, when the police came barging in.

After reading the account, I flipped the page and saw pictures of the victims. The boys each displayed bruises and scars, but they looked healthy enough. The pictures of Lily Brighton and Natalie Hale painted a different picture. Lily didn't look a day over eight years old, but was actually thirteen, due to her small, thin stature. It looked like she was starved. She had her arm in a sling and a large scrape under her left eye. The pictures of eighteen-year-old Hale were even more devastating. Her hair was tied into a braid, and little tendrils of dark auburn hair came out of it, as if she'd been in a fistfight. She had a black eye and a busted lip, and there were dark purple bruises around her collar bone where he had tried to strangle her. There were additional pictures of old bruises and scars all over her body, in particular a jagged scar on her hip that disappeared into her jeans, which the papers I held in my hand said were made by a knife Jarrod had wielded the first time Hale had rejected his advances.

The rest of the file I already knew. Yale, FBI Academy, culinary school…the rest was history. I searched for an event after or during her FBI training that might've triggered her to resent it, but there was nothing. Just constant recommendations from her superiors and a thick set of papers from unit chiefs all over the FBI asking for her to consider their team for her position. Nothing but good reviews all across the board, and nothing to indicate she'd suffered any emotional trauma in her life at that point in time. If she was hiding something, she was doing a great job at doing it.

But according to this file, the worst of her life had to have already passed.

I looked at the pictures of Hale again, and I felt a familiar pang of protectiveness over her. It was the same way I felt about Jack. The same way I felt about my team. The same way I had felt about Haley. I wanted to find Jarrod Harris and hit him square in the jaw for ruining Hale like that. For ruining those other children, too. He wasn't even in jail anymore. He'd been released early on good behavior.

I closed the file. I'd seen enough.

I was giving Hale her badge as soon as I could.

After my coffee was gone, I tucked the file back into my pocket and walked out of the shop. As I did, my phone rang. "Hotchner," I said immediately as I held it up to my ear.

"Hotch, we've got something," Morgan's voice echoed into my ear. "A pair of prints was found at the crime scene. Could be our guy."

"It'd be very careless of him," I noted. "Who is it?"

"A man by the name of Jarrod Harris. His print was on the handle of their sink. He washed his hands before he left."

"Did you just say Jarrod Harris?"

"Yeah. Does that mean anything to you?"

"I'll be back there in five minutes. Don't tell Hale."

"Why—"

I hung up on him and started back towards the police station at a jog. Once I got there, Morgan greeted me outside with a, "What aren't you telling me, Hotch?"

I looked at one of my best agents. He needed to know. This wasn't something we could keep from Hale, either. Her sensitivities could not be a hindrance to getting justice for Rachel Hale or to finding little Emma. Hale was a big girl, and she'd been through a lot. But this had to be done. "I'll tell you inside," I said. "Might as well let everyone know at once."

We walked inside, and I saw everyone gathered in the section of the police station the locals had set apart for us. They all looked at Morgan and I expectantly as I scanned the room. "Where's Hale?" I asked.

"She left with Daniel," JJ said. "She wanted to verify that Dylan was alright. She'll be back soon."

"Good. I'll get you up to speed now." I moved towards the board where the name Jarrod Harris was jotted under the word _suspects_. "Jarrod Harris has a pretty important tie to the Hale family."

"What's that?" Prentiss asked.

"He was her foster parent."

Before anyone could say anything, a voice popped out of the laptop sitting on a foldout table. It was Garcia on the webcam. "And not just your ordinary negligent state-fund-stealing foster parent. He's a convicted felon, and he was turned into the cops by Hale herself."

"What was he convicted of?" Reid asked.

"Assault and rape. It looks like Hale and another girl in the house were the prime recipients of his abuse."

The looks of shock on the team's face were immediate and saddening. They recovered after a moment. Rossi was the first to speak. "So…we're thinking Harris came back to torture her for getting him caught?"

"He's not the unsub, though," I argued. "I saw him, and they don't look anything alike. It's possible this is a completely unrelated crime."

"But the way Rachel Hale was murdered is an exact match to how our unsub murdered those other women," Morgan said. "The details of those murders were never released to the public."

I considered his input. "But judging by the evidence, and the fact that he has motive, I'd say it's safe to say Jarrod Harris is probably the man who murdered Rachel Hale and kidnapped Emma."

There was a sound of a clunk of metal crashing onto the floor. We looked over and saw Hale trying to balance on one crutch as the other lay inert on the ground. There was a shocked look on her face, which immediately began to whiten. She tried to recover as Reid rushed over to lift up the fallen crutch, and she gave him a rushed thank you that sounded almost breathy. "So clumsy," she muttered as she righted herself. Then she looked up at me, and I saw the fear in her eyes that her facial features refused to betray. "Did you say Jarrod Harris is our prime suspect?"

"They found his prints at the scene," Morgan said gently. "I'm sorry."

"So you all know then?" she asked, defeated. Everyone nodded quietly, and she glanced at me. "I can't believe, of all the sick people in the world, it had to be him."

No one knew what to say. Hale bit her lip, a mechanism designed to hide the fact that for just a moment, it trembled. She took a barely perceptible breath to calm herself, and then she looked back at all of us. "It doesn't matter," she finally said. "Knowing our possible unsub isn't going to deter my focus. I want to find Emma. Alive. And I won't let any of my bias get in the way of us saving her. But I will be damned if I don't take him down at the same time. Doing what he's already done was bad enough, and I won't let him ruin Emma." The unspoken words hung in the air. _I won't let him ruin Emma like he ruined me._

Prentiss walked up to Hale and touched her arm softly. "Nat, we need you to tell us everything you can about him. It could help us find where he is, and where he has Emma."

I saw the change in Hale when Prentiss called her Nat. She softened, became less FBI and more the girl who wanted to be an assistant chef. But she just nodded. "Ask me anything. I won't hold any information back."

Morgan and Prentiss walked her away from the group. Once they were gone, Reid watched her walk away. "She's different," he said finally.

"How so?" Rossi asked.

"She has a lot of trauma in her past, and yet she seems to have a lot going for her. I mean did you see her? She barely lost her composure when we dropped a huge bomb on her. Or, well, when you dropped a huge bomb on her, Hotch."

"She's got a lot to lose if she breaks down now," I said, ignoring his jibe. "She cares too much about her family to let that happen. She'll be a good addition to the team."

"So you're sure about this, Hotch?" JJ asked. "I mean I think I can speak for the rest of the team when I say we all think Hale is a great person and an excellent profiler, but do you think she's got what's needed for this kind of job?"

"I'd say I'm a pretty good judge of character," I replied. "And I really think she's the right one for the job."

"Well, we trust your judgment Hotch," Reid said. "I just wonder if she's been traumatized enough already. All of this and she's not even a team member yet."

"She is though," I said. "I'm giving her a badge today. She'll have a bit more paperwork once we get back, but she's as official as she needs to be."

"She hasn't even passed a physical or a psych test yet," JJ remarked.

"Reid can do the psychiatric evaluation," I said. "And she's in no state to do a physical now. She'll be a probationary agent until she can fulfill those requirements, but she'll still be a part of this team."

"I can't do the pysch eval while she's in her current emotional state," Reid said. "It would be completely skewed."

"Well, even without it she can be a probationary agent. While I know it has its risks, I've agreed to let her help with this case. She might be swayed by her emotions, but she's a good profiler. She'll be a good asset."

"I hope so," Rossi said, pointing at the picture of Emma Hale posted on the board. "Because this little girl's life is depending on it."

**I promise, action and a more central plot are coming soon! Follow, Favorite, Send Comments/Love/Constructive Criticism... Thanks! :)**


	12. CHAPTER 12: A Sickening Call (Hale)

CHAPTER TWELVE: A SICKENING CALL (HALE)

It was like some sick, twisted, horrifying, heinous dream that kept getting more convoluted and worse by the second. It was spiraling into this deep dark hole that had no bottom in sight.

Three days.

In three days, my life had been completely flipped upside down.

Rachel was dead.

She was _dead_.

And Emma was gone.

Jarrod Harris had been in every nightmare I'd ever had since the last time I'd laid eyes on him, which was in court as the jury ruled him guilty of all charges. But every night that I had a bad dream, he had a starring role in it. I knew just what kind of evil he could wreak on a person. And now he had Emma.

I answered all the questions Prentiss and Morgan asked. They asked about Jarrod, about his wife, now dead, about the other foster kids, about life in his home. They tried to skirt around the more difficult details, which I appreciated. Too many painful things in my brain at once, all on overload.

All this turmoil, and I had to keep a straight face for Hotch. I had to show him I was capable of handling this case. And I was. I knew I was. Like it or not, I was good at this. My dad would be proud I was using my skills to fight the bad guys. And I was going to kick Jarrod's ass the way my dad would've if he had known what that bastard had done to me.

I wasn't allowed to go with the team as they investigated Jarrod Harris' home, but I didn't mind. I knew they wouldn't find anything. Jarrod was impulsive, angry, violent…but he wasn't stupid. He'd find somewhere else to take Emma and to hide out. If in fact he even was our unsub, which was a detail I couldn't doubt.

I occupied my time by searching through an internet database looking for the three people I had been closest with, whom Hotch had promised would be offered protection if they could get to Quantico. I found Keeton and Jamal almost immediately. They were running a small bar together in Norfolk, Virginia. It took longer to find Lily. Once I did, I saw she had become a rape crisis counselor in California. I looked at the picture of her present-day self with pride. She'd really done a lot to help others.

And now I needed to reopen the wounds she had. The wounds that looked scarily similar to my own.

I dialed her number and waited thirty seconds until she picked up. "Ms. Brighton's Counseling, how may I help you?" I heard a heartbreakingly familiar voice say.

"Hello…um…Lily?"

There was a pause. "Who is this speaking?"

"Hi, this is Nat. Um, Natalie Hale."

"Nat!" Lily exclaimed. "What a…surprise!"

"It took me a while to find your number," I said. "I never thought to look for a Lillian Brighton. I've only ever thought of you as Lily."

There was an uncomfortably long pause, and I wondered how big of a jump I'd made reaching out to her.

"Nat, it's been several years…I mean, don't get me wrong, it's great to hear from you…but why now?"

"It's…it's not anything good," I said quietly.

"Is it Keeton? Or Jamal? I _knew _I should've kept better contact with you guys, I just never found the time to—"

"No, it's not them," I quickly assured. "I'm going to call them next." I took a deep breath. "Lily, you know Jarrod's out of jail."

Lily swallowed. "I know. That's why I moved across the country."

"He's the prime suspect in the murder of my sister-in-law. And in the kidnapping of my five-year-old niece."

There was silence. Then, "Oh my God, Nat, I'm so—"

"I'm currently working with the FBI," I said hurriedly, cutting her off. "So you need to listen to me carefully. We have reason to believe that he wants to hurt me for catching him all those years ago. And one way to do that is by getting to you, Keeton, and Jamal. And I won't let him do that to me. Can you get to Quantico, Virginia as soon as possible? They can offer you protection there. _I _can protect you there."

"Nat…we aren't little kids anymore. I'm not thirteen. I can take care of myself."

"No. You may be an adult, but you're not all-powerful. He can still hurt you, and I can't let that happen. I know you've got a career and no doubt people you love out there, but I'm worried about _you_. Come to Quantico. Please."

There was a long pause on the other side. I waited patiently. "I can be there by tomorrow morning."

"Great. Once you land call me at this number and I'll give you more information. You're doing the right thing, Lil."

"Alright. I'll talk to you later, Nat."

I hung up and started searching for Keeton's number. He had been the youngest of all of us at the foster home, just ten years old. After the whole Jarrod fiasco, he was lucky enough to have a sweet mid-fifties couple adopt him. He'd grown so much now, and it looked like Jamal had taken him under his wing since graduation. Neither had a college education, but they seemed to make well with their bar.

I was dialing Keet and Jam's Bar as the team walked back in the doors of the police station. As they arrived at the desk I was sitting at, Hotch opened his mouth to say something, and I held up a finger to make him wait.

"Keet and Jam's Bar, how may I help you?" I heard a deep voice say. I couldn't have put my finger on it.

"Hello, to whom am I speaking?"

"Keeton Peterson, co-owner. And who am _I _speaking to?"

"Keeton, this is Natalie Hale. Do you remember me?"

"Nat? Is it really you?"

"In the flesh. Or, voice, I guess."

His voice went away from the phone for a moment. "Hey! Jamal! Get over here! It's Nat!" He put his mouth back to the phone. "It's been such a long time, it's great to hear from you again."

"You too, Keet. How's the bar?"

"It's great…hey, Jamal, it's Nat!"

There was a shuffling sound and another voice rang in my ear. "Nat?"

"Hey Jamal, it's great to hear your voice."

"You too!" Jamal sounded happy to hear me, but unlike Keeton, I could tell he knew I had a hidden agenda. "But I know you, Nat, and you wouldn't call us out of the blue like this unless you had a good reason. I've got you on speaker, by the way."

"You're too smart for your own good," I sighed. "Something's happened. Is there any way you and Keet could close down the bar for a few days and take a trip to Quantico, Virginia."

"What's going on?" he asked. "Why Quantico?"

"Jamal, Keet, I'm currently working with the FBI on a string of murders and a missing person's case. The most recent murder was my sister-in-law and my niece was abducted. They…guys, they think it was Jarrod." There was silence on the other end. I continued. "They can offer you protection in Quantico. There's a possibility that he's going after people I care about for revenge, and you guys are more than connected to both Jarrod and me."

After a moment, Keet said, "Nat, I'm so sorry about your family. That's too much for one person."

"Thanks," I said. I glanced at the team, who dawdled as they tried to pretend they weren't listening to my conversation. I rolled my eyes and said, "Knowing you two were safe would take some major stress off of me. Can you get to Quantico by tomorrow morning? Lily will be there as well."

"Of course we can," Jamal said. "You take care of yourself, Nat, you here?"

"I'm sitting here with a Glock 17, Jamal, I'll be just fine. Call me at this number if you need anything. I'll talk to you later." I flipped my phone shut and looked at the team. "Sorry about that."

"No problem," Morgan told me. "Didn't have much to say anyway. His house brought up nothing."

I nodded. I was about to stand up from my chair, but my phone rang again. "Probably Keeton wanting to ask me something. He's always been pretty detail specific, poor kid." I opened up the phone and put it on speaker. The team could help answer questions. "Hello?"

"Aunt Nattie?"

I dropped the phone. The small, quiet voice was shaking, and I knew without a doubt who it was.

Morgan immediately got Garcia on the phone and was asking her to trace the call. I picked up the phone with a shaking hand. "Emma? Sweetie, is that you?"

"Aunt Nattie, I'm scared," she cried.

Tears built up in my eyes. "Honey, do you know where you are? We're trying to come help you."

"I'm in a small room. It has brooms and buckets and stuff and it's really black. I'm so scared, Aunt Nattie, I want mommy and daddy."

I brushed a tear off my cheek. "How are you talking to me, Emma?"

"His phone was in his pocket. Your name was in it so I thought it might be you. He left his pants in the room."

I took from that statement what I had feared the most. I ran my hand across my face and took a deep breath. "Honey, do you know his name?"

"He told me to call him Uncle Jarrod," she sobbed, confirming more of my fears.

"Sweetie, just hold on a bit longer, we're coming to find you. Your daddy misses and loves you very much."

"I miss him too," Emma cried. "Aunt Nattie, I can't breathe well."

"Just stay calm, Emma. Take slow breaths, okay? Are you hurt?"

"He's coming back!" she said, crying harder. "I can hear him. I'm scared."

"Hang up the phone, sweetie," I said, trying not to reveal the tears that were pouring down my face in my voice. "Hide it. Don't let him find it, okay? We're going to find you."

She disconnected the call and I looked up at the team. Prentiss put a hand on my shoulder as I wiped the tears off my face. I took a deep breath. "Did you track it?"

"Baby, you know I did." I listened to Garcia's voice coming out of Morgan's phone, which was on speaker. "It looks like the bastard's shacking up in a small house way off of the main highway. I'll send you the address and you guys go save that poor little girl."

"Thanks, baby girl," Morgan said.

"Sure thing."

They hung up and I stood from my chair. I was testing the waters without my crutches, and surprisingly I was doing quite well. "Hotch, let me come with you. You might need me to get her out."

"No," Hotch said. "We'll find another way."

"Not if it puts Emma in danger. She can't breathe well, she's scared, she's hurt…and Jarrod might not hesitate in killing her if you don't have a bargaining chip. It fits the profile that he'd make a trade off for me. Obviously, you wouldn't just hand me over, but just my presence could keep him from killing her. Just let me come."

"She has a point, Hotch," Reid said. "And she seems to be doing well without crutches. She can hold her own. Right, Hale?"

"Definitely," I said. "I can help you end this."

Hotch looked at me carefully. He stared me down, as if analyzing even the smallest detail about the steely and determined look I was giving him. I stared right back at him in his warm eyes, unwilling to back down, unwilling to look weak.

And then, finally, "Alright. You can come. Someone get her a vest."

**Please keep following and sending the love/comments/constructive criticism! It keeps me going! Thanks! :) **


	13. CHAPTER 13: A Loss of Innocence (Hale)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: A LOSS OF INNOCENCE (HALE)

We were in the FBI SUV, on our way to the destination Garcia had sent us. Prentiss was sitting to my right. Hotch was driving and Morgan was in the passenger seat. JJ, Reid, and Rossi were in another car.

It was scarily quiet. I had imagined people would be yelling into radios or something. Instead, it was calm in the eeriest of ways. I kept hearing Emma's sobs in my head. No matter when we rescued her, he had already hurt her.

I could kill him. I truly could.

Prentiss squeezed my hand. "Hale?"

"Mhm?"

"When we get there, you're going to go in, but behind SWAT. We only want to show your face if it seems like it'll help Emma."

"Sounds like a plan."

"It'll be over soon," she said, patting my hand.

"Let's hope so," I sighed. "How long till we get there?"

"Three minutes," Hotch said from the front. "Load your weapons. We're moving as soon as we can."

* * *

It was a small log cabin of sorts. It was decrepit, with an overgrown yard and a small silver car parked in the yard. Within seconds of our arrival, the rest of the team showed up, followed by a crew of SWAT. They all met away from the house, in case Jarrod had some sort of surveillance set up.

Hotch got everyone together. "The BAU is going in first. When we give the signal, you secure the place and follow. I need three of you assigned to Agent Hale. We'll give another signal if we need her in place. Alright, let's go."

I watched as the team entered the house. I waited to hear some sort of commotion, but it was relatively silent. The SWAT leader assigned three men to me, all big and burly with giant guns. I was able to walk without my crutches with a slight limp, so I stood and waited for a signal.

There was a quick beeping sound, and then a follow up. The SWAT leader glanced at me. "They're bypassing the SWAT invasion and are signaling for you immediately," he said. "You need to go in alone."

I swallowed and nodded. I glanced quickly at the FBI vest on me for reassurance and pulled out my gun. I quickly made my way to the cabin, limping slightly but gaining enough ground in a short time. I walked up the steps and made my way into the house. I could hear voices coming from down below, and it took me a moment to find the stairs down to the basement. I slowly made my way down, listening more closely to the voices.

"Just calm down, Harris," Morgan was saying. "Don't hurt that girl. Hale's coming."

"Did you know it's because of me she doesn't like being called by her full first name," a sickly familiar voice said. He was laughing as he revealed my past as easily as if he were talking about the current state of the weather. "Guess I whispered her name to her one too many times while I had the time of my life with her. It's just so beautiful. Natalie. It rolls off the tongue. I couldn't help but repeat it over and over and over…."

"You are one sick bastard," Morgan said, and I could hear the disgust in his voice.

"Careful there, Mr. FBI. I've got this kid at my mercy. I'll kill her if I don't see my Natalie in thirty seconds."

"I'm right here, Jarrod," I said, finally getting down the stairs. I glanced at the scene before me. The team all had their guns pointed at Jarrod, who had an unconscious Emma in his grasp and a gun to her head. "You don't need to lay a finger on her."

His eyes moved over me, and he looked at me like he always had before. Like a prize to be won. His eyes had always scared me, so telling of his desires and emotions. He didn't hide anything. He was so open with what he wanted, and the fact that he'd do anything to get it didn't help.

"Natalie!" he exclaimed, and the way he said my name brought back horrible memories. I could remember how he'd always drawn out my name, as if he relished every single letter and syllable. "It's been far too long. I had a feeling killing someone close to you in the way of a chain of other murders might get your attention. Believe it or not, I still have friends, and one is a police officer in an office that had information on that serial killer you've been looking for. I copied his style. And a little birdie told me you were FBI, said you'd been in the Academy a few years back."

I didn't correct him. It wasn't important that he know his information was flawed and that I had barely been in the FBI for twenty-four hours. It's not like any of that mattered now, the fact that if I hadn't run into Hotch at that coffee shop that one morning, I never would have known about any investigation. "Why take Emma then?" I asked quietly.

"Sweet Emma. She's a pretty little girl, isn't she? A little troublesome, always crying and complaining about not being able to breathe. And she was too young for my taste. But I needed you to come find me," he said, eyeing me up and down. "I needed to see you."

I took a deep breath and tightened my grip on the gun. "Well, here I am. What's it going to take for you to let her go?"

Jarrod grinned. "Walk a little closer to me."

"Drop the gun," I demanded sternly.

"Oh, I don't think so." He used the gun to tuck a piece of Emma's hair behind her ear. "She passed out after saying she couldn't breathe. I think it's safe to say that the quicker you do as I say, the higher the chance that she survives." I thought about my options until I realized there were none. I stepped forward. "Silly me, I almost forgot. I need _you _to drop your gun, beautiful Natalie. Don't get me wrong, I find the idea of you as a federal agent simply… scintillating. After this, my fantasies are going to be filled with little else. But nonetheless, I think you better put the gun on the ground."

I glanced around at the agents, who looked stony. Hotch simply gave a nod, and I knew he was conveying to me that they had my back. I tried not to wince as I bent to put my weapon down, but I could feel my face contort for a moment as I came back up. Jarrod laughed at me. "What happened to your leg, my pretty Natalie?"

"You know, I was shot a couple days ago," I remarked angrily and a little impatiently. "It's been a rough week. You've decided to terrorize my family at a really bad time."

"Really?" Jarrod asked, and he looked genuinely shocked. For the first time, I believed he wasn't connected to our other unsub, the one whose alias was Seth Mallard, which was a thought that made me feel more helpless. The shock in his face soon faded into amusement. "Who pulled the trigger?"

"Don't know," I replied honestly.

"Shame. I'd like to send him flowers. Or maybe I'd beat him around. I don't want anyone messing with you except for me."

"Yeah, well you were always very good at that, weren't you," I snapped angrily, losing my head for a moment, taking a couple more steps forward. "What do you want? What will it take to let her go?"

"I just want to touch you," he told me softly, grinning a ravenous grin. "That's my prize. I know I'm going back to prison. I don't really care. And I'll let go of this girl the moment you let me touch you. Scout's honor."

"I'm not sorry if this offends you, but your word doesn't mean anything to me."

"You know, if you hadn't been so quick to turn me in all those years ago, you might've gotten to know me. Might've learned to trust my word. Maybe even had grown to _like_ the times when we—"

"Stop," I snapped, and I could feel the hysterics rising in my throat as I fought hard to push them down. "You don't get to make decisions right now. You may have a gun pointed at an innocent little girl's head, but we have plenty of guns aimed at you, and I can guarantee we won't hesitate to kill you. We're here to end you, not take a trip down your twisted memory lane."

Jarrod smiled, showing yellowed teeth that made me want to retch. "Come on, sweet Natalie, you're just a few steps away from saving her. Just a couple steps. Just one simple touch for the life of your niece?"

I took two more steps towards him. The thought of his hands on my skin made me want to, quite simply, vomit. But little Emma was just barely holding on, her chest moving up and down in shallow motions. I was running out of time to be wimpy. I was about to take the last couple steps towards him when he let go of Emma, tossing her to the floor like a broken doll, and lunged towards me.

"Get Emma!" I yelled out before he gripped my arms tightly and pulled me close enough that I had no choice but to look at him.

He stared at me right in the eyes, and the dam broke. Memories that I'd suppressed for years flooded back into my mind. Nights where I hoped all he'd do was throw me around a bit, and other nights where I knew it would end with him locking my bedroom door and not letting me out until morning light. My mind registered Emily picking up Emma and running up the stairs with her. That was all that mattered to me anymore.

"Let go of our agent, Harris," Hotch commanded assertively from behind me. "We will shoot."

"Relax," Jarrod said, tilting his head forward, and his voice was so close to my ear that I shivered. His lips grazed my ear and I tried to jerk away. He pulled me closer to him, putting me in front of him as a human shield. "We made a deal. I get to touch her."

He lifted his free hand and touched my face. I flinched away, my eyes closing. "Don't move. I want to enjoy this." His fingers slid down my face in a twisted caress.

"No," I whispered, opening my eyes, feeling like I was on fire with rage and emotion. "No, you finished _enjoying_ young women when I kicked your ass as a terrified eighteen-year-old girl. Imagine what I can do now that I'm actually trained."

Without warning, I slammed the arm that held the gun and it flew out of his hand. I jammed the knee of my good leg into his groin and dodged the fist he threw at me. Putting all of my weight on my good leg, I retaliated by throwing my fist at his jaw. He fell to the ground, discombobulated. Hotch and Morgan quickly apprehended him, handcuffing him none-too-gently and forcing him to his feet. He locked eyes with me, blood running down the corner of his lip.

"I won," he said quietly, calmly. "All I wanted was to touch your skin again, pretty Natalie. All I wanted was to see how your eyes get bigger and full of that sweet fear when I call you by your beautiful name. Now I can die a happy man."

"As long as you die, I'm all for that endgame," I spat. I turned away and limped off towards the stairs, breathing heavily and trying to ignore the shocking pain in my leg. When a hand fell on my elbow, I whirled around in defense.

"Hey. Just me," Reid said. He looked at me in concern, and I looked away. "Do you need some help up the stairs?"

"I…sure. Thanks."

He gingerly lifted my arm and put it over his shoulder, and arduously he helped me up the stairs. The moment I was up, I saw the lights of an ambulance outside. I broke free of Reid and rushed outside as quickly as I could. Prentiss was standing with the SWAT leader. When she saw me coming, she asked, "Nat? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," I replied, dismissing her concern. "Where's Emma?"

"She's in the ambulance. She had an asthma attack and she stopped breathing for a moment, but before you start worrying, she's going to be fine."

"Thank God," I breathed. "Someone needs to call Dan, he's got to know."

"He's been notified. He's going to meet her at the hospital right now."

"Okay. Okay, good."

"Nat…are you okay?"

I looked at her and sighed. "I'll probably have my fair share of nightmares, but all things considered, I could be much worse."

There was a commotion, and we turned around as Hotch and Morgan brought up a smiling Jarrod. He looked over at me, and for a reason I will never be able to explain or understand, I looked back. "Goodbye, my Natalie!" he yelled out. "It's been lovely knowing you!" Morgan roughly grabbed the back of his head and shoved him gracelessly into a cop car. I watched as the door slammed shut and the car started driving away, taking my worst nightmare with it.

* * *

The team was about to board the jet back to Quantico. Garcia had called Keeton, Jamal, and Lily to inform them that there was no more threat, and everything was starting to slow down. But I knew I needed to stay in North Dakota for a few more days. Daniel was hurting, Emma was hurting. I was hurting. It was probably a little early on in my FBI career to start requesting days off, but I needed to be with what remained of my broken family for a little.

The team came to me before they left. Morgan and Rossi gave my shoulders a little pat, Reid offered a few characteristically awkward words of comfort, and Prentiss and JJ offered me compassionate hugs. As they all started making their way out to the car, Hotch came up to me.

"You did really well back there, Hale," he said. "I know that couldn't have been easy."

"Thanks," I replied.

"I hope that you realize that in this job, you'll have to confront that kind of stuff more than most people would like, or can handle. But at the same time, you'll be putting away other unsubs who are causing the same pain all over the country."

"I realize that, Hotch," I said, flipping my phone in my hands repeatedly, therapeutically. "I can handle my past and my memories just fine. Jarrod's gone now, and he can't hurt the people I love anymore."

"I saw him trying to get into your head. You played it well enough that I couldn't tell if it was working."

"If you're asking if it _was_ working, then yes, it was," I admitted. "But not enough to keep me from staying calm for Emma. And for anyone else he'd hurt trying to get to me."

He nodded, glancing at my hands. I knew he'd be profiling me as I turned the phone over in my hands again and again, but I didn't want to stop. I had to keep moving. "You're going to be a good agent, Hale," he said. "And I hope you'll be even better now that you know that Jarrod Harris is never going to hurt you, or anyone else, ever again."

I nodded.

"It goes without saying that you stay here with your family a little longer. Come back to Quantico in a week and you'll find a desk with your name on it."

I nodded again. "Thank you."

Hotch nodded, and turned to walk out of the police station. He stopped and looked back at me. "Hale? I thought you should know, the hospital contacted us. They thought you might want to know as soon as possible that there is no physical or emotional sign that Jarrod Harris sexually assaulted Emma. She's just shaken up and grieving, and she's no longer having difficulty breathing."

It was like someone had just reached inside of me and untied a knot that had been tightening itself since the moment I heard Jarrod was our unsub. I stilled my hands and placed my phone on the desk, suddenly feeling like maybe I didn't need to be moving quite so quickly. "Thank you for telling me," I finally said. "I…that means more than you can imagine."

He nodded, and then turned and walked out of the office, leaving me staring after him.

**Thanks for all of the continued support! Follow, Favorite, Comment with you thoughts/love/constructive criticism...you know the drill! :) ~ Lacey**


	14. CHAPTER 14: A Fresh Start (Hotch)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: A FRESH START (HOTCH)

One more second of watching Harris psychologically torture Hale and I would have personally deposited the bullet into his brain.

She had controlled her facial features perfectly, looking calm and relaxed as she bartered her own body for the safety of her niece. But her eyes betrayed everything. The fear, pain, humiliation, anger…her eyes were like a billboard. Harris could read them as well as anyone else. I watched as she revisited every memory the bastard had ever etched into her brain. The team around me could see the same things.

The moment he'd let go of Emma and latched onto Hale, there was such a conflict of relief and fear in her eyes that I wondered if it was possible she'd explode from sheer emotional overload. But she remained as calm as possible as he touched her, caressed her. It was when he started stroking her face that my finger infinitesimally moved to pull the trigger.

Which was when Hale let all hell break loose and kicked his ass to the ground, redemption several years in the making. Morgan, Rossi, JJ, and I watched as Reid helped Hale up the stairs, and then I turned my attention back to Harris.

He was watching as Hale disappeared up the stairs. "Beautiful, beautiful girl she is, my Natalie. The years have treated her well. She still feels soft, but she's not, you know?"

"Shut up, you son of a bitch," Morgan snapped, double checking that the handcuffs were secure.

"You're so judgmental, all of you," Harris sneered. "You wouldn't be so quick to judge if you'd ever touched her like I have. You're just jealous."

"Listen here," I said, looking at Harris with a steely eye. "You so much as think about the pain you've caused that woman and her family, I will forget all government protocol and I will personally put a bullet between your eyes, do I make myself clear?" Harris just laughed, and I allowed my hand to hover over my gun. "I said, do I make myself clear?"

A flash of fear appeared in his eyes. It was all I needed. He didn't say another word as I started leading him up the stairs. He still had this stupid smile on his face, as if he'd just won the lottery. And in his mind, he had.

When we got outside, I saw Prentiss glued to Hale, comforting and trying to support her as an ambulance rushed Emma away. The front porch creaked as we stepped outside, and Hale turned to look at us. Morgan and I hurried Harris across the yard. But not quickly enough for him to yell out at Hale. "Goodbye Natalie! It was lovely knowing you."

Hale turned away as Morgan cracked his hand along the back of Harris' head as he forced him into the cop car. "Rot in prison, dirt bag."

"With pleasure," Harris grinned.

As he was hauled away, Rossi walked up to me and watched the taillights of the car disappear. "Am I the only one who feels like this wasn't really a victory?"

"No," I replied. "He got what he wanted. But at the same time, he can't hurt anyone anymore. And that's the most anyone, including ourselves, can ask of us."

* * *

We were back in Quantico, nursing our egos as the unsub who shot and tried to kidnap Hale, the one who went by Seth Mallard, slipped between our fingers. We had no lead, no clues, not so much as a hint. The killings had stopped. There was nothing we could do. I didn't know how we would break the news to Hale either. There was nothing to do except admit defeat and move forward until we could find another lead.

There was a desk waiting for Hale in the bullpen, and she was expected to be sitting in that desk the next morning. We'd already confirmed that she had attended her sister-in-law's funeral, and that she was currently sitting on a plane that would bring her back to Quantico. Assuming she was ready, she'd take her physical and her psychological evaluation, and then she'd have to ace my own personal test. I'd take her into the firearm training facility, and make sure she could pass her qualifications. She might have done well before in the Academy, and she may have had a concealed weapons permit, but she was probably out of practice. She might be my agent soon, but she needed a refresher in FBI protocol and tactical moves.

It was dark out, and the lights were on in the bullpen. JJ and Morgan had already left, JJ to be with her son Henry, who had a cold, and Morgan to visit a friend who'd been in a car accident. Rossi and Reid were going over the files JJ had handed out that morning for the new case. Three missing children in three weeks. The first two were boys, and the third was a girl, all under the age of thirteen. The case was local, so no jet was necessary, and there was nothing else we could do until the morning. Which was convenient, as it would be Hale's first day technically speaking, and she would be valuable.

I walked up to Prentiss as I prepared to leave the office. She was in the BAU room, looking at the pictures of the missing kids posted on the board. "Do you have a moment?"

"Sometimes I wish our job didn't involve child abductions," Prentiss sighed. "Just thinking about how scared I'd be if a strange man stole me away from my house when I was that young…." She let her musings trail off, and then she glanced at me. "Sorry, Hotch. Yes, I have a moment."

"Natalie Hale is coming back from North Dakota tomorrow," I said. "She doesn't have an apartment yet. I know this is a lot to ask of you, but until she finds a new place—"

"She can absolutely stay with me," Prentiss replied. "I don't know how, but somewhere in between everything that went on last week, we kind of just clicked. She seems like a really great person, and I don't even know her as an agent yet. My place is hers until she finds her own place."

"Good," I said. "I know it's not standard protocol, all of this…but if I didn't believe she was right for the job, I wouldn't have done any of this."

"I know," Prentiss said. I nodded and turned to leave the room. "Hotch?"

"Yes?"

"You're wrong about one thing," she said. When I turned to look back at her, I saw that she was again observing the photos of the missing children.

"What's that?"

"Even if she hadn't been the right agent for the job…even if she turned out to be the worst agent the FBI could ever have landed itself with…you still would've gone to the ends of the earth to help her, and her family." She paused for a moment. "Because that's what we do."

"That's what we do," I repeated, and then left her to her own devices.

* * *

Hale was sitting in her desk when I walked into the BAU the next morning. Her back was to me, and she was looking through the case file for the recent abductions. For a moment, I wondered if this was too close to home for her. But then she turned around in her swivel chair, and without even looking at me she said, "So is this how every day at the FBI goes down? You get a case about sick bad guys, take a jet to a new city, save the day, and then…rinse and repeat?"

"Well, there's lots of paperwork behind the scenes," I said. "But as unit chief, that's mainly my job. I need the rest of my agents in the field whenever possible. How long have you been here?"

"I got here thirty minutes early," she said. "I figured punctuality was something I should strive for. At least the first week or two."

"Assuming you last that long," I stated.

She tilted her head, considering my statement. "Yes, well, let's hope I'm haven't forgotten _that _much from the Academy. And just to let you know, my doctor said I'm not qualified for my physical yet. But I think I'm ready."

"Well," I said after a moment's pause, "I generally trust the gut of my agents more than some random doctor. If you say you're ready, then you're ready."

"So…is that what I'm doing today? Physical and psych evaluations?"

"I also want to test you in the firearms department, but no, that's not what we're doing. We've got a case that needs to be solved now. Three child abductions, no bodies…we're thinking they're still alive. The last abduction was two days ago."

"Have you started building the profile yet?" she asked. "This file only has the cold hard facts, no actual behavioral analysis."

"We haven't visited the crime scenes yet, and we haven't interviewed the families. Which is why the real case begins today, the moment everyone else comes in."

"And it's okay for me to be on this case with you when I'm not…fully certified yet?"

"Yes," I said. "You just aren't at the full SSA status yet."

"Huh," Hale said. "SSA Natalie Hale. I can honestly say I never imagined actually getting to this point."

"Sure you did," I said as I started towards my office. "You applied to the Academy, didn't you?"

* * *

I walked into the briefing room to find everyone seated and waiting for me. "Sorry," I said. "Before JJ starts briefing us on the case, I'd guess it's time to formally introduce Agent Natalie Hale. She'll be part of this team now. She just has to pass the physical and the psych evaluations, which she'll take after we catch our most recent unsub. Obviously, you already know her, but I'm technically obliged to give a formal introduction."

There was an awkward moment of silence, which was shattered when Garcia ran into the room. "Hey!"

"Yes, Garcia?" I asked.

"Actually, Dr. Heinz wanted me to come tell Nat that she needs to at least take her psych evaluation before she goes in the field. The physical stuff…that's her call, but the man upstairs wants me to at least make sure she's not loony. Not that I think you're loony, Nat," Garcia amended. "I mean, you seem perfectly sane to me, I didn't—"

"Garcia, we have a case. There are three missing children out there, and if we don't get on this case another will go missing," I said. "Can this really not wait?"

"Boss man, if I may, you've solved like a billion other cases without Nat. Maybe she could sit this one out to get her credentials straightened out."

"She's good with hostage situations," I said, looking at Hale. She was twisting her hair, glancing from me to Garcia. "This is a case where we think the children are in danger but alive, and she could be useful in getting them out of there."

Hale looked at me, surprised. Perhaps she herself had wondered what use she could serve to a team who already had so much talent. I think she would've been surprised to look at her own file. She specialized in sex crimes, like our previous agent Elle Greenaway had, and obsessive behaviors, like Morgan. However, Morgan was the brawns of the team, and most of the time did not need to utilize all of the knowledge he had on obsessive crimes because of his constant fieldwork. Hale, on the other hand, knew it all like the back of her hand, and she branched to being skilled in hostile negotiations, hostage situations, and other scenarios involving understanding another person in order to save lives. And that's why I wanted her.

"I'll go talk to him, Hotch, but he seemed insistent," Garcia said. She hurried out of the room and I nodded at JJ

She stood up and started speaking. "In the last three weeks, three children have gone missing in the D.C. area. The first was Tyler Kerry, nine years old. He was last seen at a local grocery store. Next, Marcus June, twelve years old. He was last seen walking out the door of his house on his way to a comic book store a couple blocks away. And the last, Kellie Hastings. She's just eight years old, last seen leaving school. She was taken somewhere in between leaving the school building and the bus stop. The only connection that can be made between the three are their physical appearances. All have blonde hair, blue eyes, and a lot of freckles."

"I think we can rule out a single unsub," Morgan said almost immediately. "There's no possible way they could swoop in a crowded school at the end of the day and steal a little girl unnoticed."

"She's just eight," Prentiss argued. "If the unsub was big enough, he might have been able to subdue her."

"No," Morgan said. "He might've been big enough to subdue her, but not without alarming all the students nearby. If she was on her way to the bus stop, there were probably a dozen or more children who would have noticed someone big and burly taking one of their classmates away."

"We need to visit that school," I said. "And we need to talk to the families. We need something to start building this profile off of other than the fact that our unsub or unsubs like to kidnap children with blonde hair, blue eyes, and freckles."

Garcia rushed back in, a flustered look on her face. "Hotch, Dr. Heinz insists that the psych evaluation take place today. He…he's concerned about how all the demon's Nat's faced and shot down in the last couple of weeks have affected her ability to view a case objectively. Especially…."

Hale sighed. "Especially a case involving missing children." She glanced at me, twirling her hair more ferociously. "I understand why they want to do this now," she said.

I thought about it for a moment. "Fine. Garcia, tell Dr. Heinz he has one day to make sure Hale has all of her credentials. I want her back on this case with us ASAP, do you hear?"

"Loud and clear, fearless leader," Garcia said. "Nat, do you want to come with me?"

Hale glanced at me and I nodded. She stood up and followed Garcia out of the room.

The rest of the team looked at me, waiting for my command. "Alright, Reid and JJ, I need you to start interviewing family members about anything suspicious we might have missed. Prentiss and Morgan, you check out the school of the last abduction, talk to kids and teachers. We need to find him, and find him quickly. While we're hopeful those children are alive…it could be that we just haven't found their bodies. We need to work quickly. Hopefully, we won't even need Hale's assistance."

* * *

We found the unsubs before Hale finished her evaluations. It wasn't as difficult as we had originally thought. The unsubs had been a pair, a dominant male and a subordinate female who had lost their five children in a gas leak at their previous home. They had been trying to rebuild their family by abducting children who resembled their deceased kids. We found them after a fifth grade boy at Kellie Hastings' school was able to give a description of the car she was taken in and the people who took her. Someone responded to the BOLO, and within two hours we had our unsubs and three shaken up, but living, children.

We walked back into the BAU just as Hale walked out of an office with Dr. Heinz, shaking his hand. I walked up to the pair of them. "Are you cleared?" I asked. Hale nodded.

"Yep, Agent Hale here has had quite a lot happen to her," Dr. Heinz said, clapping Hale on the shoulder as she no doubt fought to roll her eyes. "She's managed to compartmentalize most of her experiences, and while everyone who has suffered a loss goes through tremendous grief, I firmly believe that Agent Hale is mentally and physically fit enough to become a part of the BAU. I'm happy to hand over a new agent to you, Agent Hotchner."

"Thank you, Dr. Heinz," I said. "Hale, you can go ask Morgan where the firearm training center is. I'm going to make sure you're up to par before you go out in the field."

"Yes, sir," she said, hurrying off to find Morgan.

"Dr. Heinz, can I speak with you in private?" I asked.

"Agent Hotchner, I understand that you're concerned about the possibility that your new agent is still at a particularly sensitive stage in her grief process, but I can assure you—"

"In private, doctor?" I repeated.

He sighed, and then directed me into his office. He sat down at his desk and I seated myself in the chair opposite. "Agent Hotchner," he started.

"I understand that you find Agent Hale capable. I think she is as well."

"Oh," Dr. Heinz said, surprised. "Then what did you need to talk to me about?"

"I was wondering if Hale mentioned anything unusual about her father," I said. "Any information pertaining to him could help us find a dangerous unsub."

"You know I can't reveal anything she said, Agent Hotchner," Dr. Heinz said. "Doctor-patient confidentiality and all. I know your case against that unsub is cold unless you come up with new leads soon, but I can't help you."

"Dr. Heinz—"

"Agent Hotchner, let me save you a good amount of trouble," he said. "I can tell you right now that Natalie Hale isn't hiding anything from you, nor does she want to. She's opened up every part of her overwhelming past to you and your team. She spoke of her father, yes, and while I can't tell you if any of that information is relative to your case, I can tell you that if she knew anything more about her father she would tell you everything she knew immediately. She's not trying to play the victim here, and she's not withholding memories. She's throwing it all on the table. She wants to move on."

I paused and observed the doctor. Everything about his body language suggested he was telling the exact truth, as he knew it. I nodded and shook his hand. "Thank you," I said.

"Any time," he said. "Oh, and Agent Hotchner?"

"Yes?"

"I passed Natalie on her physical, but I guess I'll let you know that she'll still be taking painkillers for her leg. She's capable of walking, running, sprinting, you name it, but she still has mild discomfort. Everything internal is working just fine."

"Thanks, doctor," I said. I was about to leave the room when I said, "Can you do me a favor?"

"Depends what it is," Dr. Heinz said.

"Don't…don't call her Natalie," I said quickly, wondering for a moment why I was saying it. "She doesn't like it."

Without waiting for a response, I quickly walked out of his office and proceeded to my own, knowing I had a never ending stack of paperwork that I needed to start on.

My phone rang, and when I glanced at it I saw it was Morgan. I debated on ignoring it, but in the end I flipped it open and put the phone to my ear. "Hotchner."

"Hey, Hotch, are you coming down? I've got Hale suited up for firearms training."

I had completely forgotten. "I'll be there in ten."

**I've been gone for a bit, but I'm back! Thanks for reading! ~ Lacey :)**

**PS-I'm aware that Hotch is a smidge out of character. This is how I've interpreted his character in this story, and it's probably going to stay that way unless it really bugs a lot of people.**


	15. CHAPTER 15: A New Nickname or Two (Hale)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: A NEW NICKNAME OR TWO (HALE)

The evaluations weren't half as intimidating as I had anticipated. Mostly I just tried to be myself. I didn't hide anything that didn't need to be hidden, and I answered every question the kindly doctor asked of me. I showed the emotion that was due, told him the truth about my uncanny ability to compartmentalize. He told me he had seen the same type of coping mechanism with Agent Emily Prentiss, and at that I grinned lightly. We were similar. Maybe that's why we immediately took to each other. I was thankful that she was letting me stay with her until I could find a place of my own closer to the BAU. I still planned on living in D.C., but I didn't have my place with Jason anymore. And the BAU was my job now.

And that was some crazy stuff. I was a federal agent. I was Supervisory Special Agent Natalie Hale.

Morgan walked me down to the firearms training facility. "When's the last time you trained with a gun in your hands?"

"The last week of my FBI training," I admitted. "It's been a while, but I've gone to shooting ranges to keep up some of my skills. Like I said, I've had my concealed for a while now. I wasn't just going to forget how to use it."

"Well, while you're in here you'll do some tactical training, too. But I'm sure you'll do fine. You seem smart enough for someone so young."

"I'm not that young," I countered. "I've been alive long enough to know that getting to twenty-six is a blessing in and of itself."

"Like I said," Morgan said with a smile. "Smart. And pretty. Deadly combination, you know."

"So I've heard," I replied. He ruffled my hair and I looked at him, indignant. "Is this what you do to all newbies, Morgan? Make them into pets?"

"Only when they like it," he said with another grin. "And I know you do." I rolled my eyes. "And hey, call me Derek when we're alone. We don't have to be professional all the time." He winked at me jokingly.

Somehow, I was able to resist rolling my eyes again. "Keep calling me Hale and we'll call it a deal."

"Oh no," he said, handing me a Kevlar vest. "Derek Morgan rarely addresses his women by their own name."

"His women?" I retorted skeptically, pulling on the bullet proof vest.

"Exhibit A, Penelope Garcia. Mostly referred to as baby girl. Exhibit B, Emily Prentiss. Sometimes called princess. I mean yeah, I'll use their actual names in professional conversation, or just in passing. But you need a name, Miss Natalie Hale. Your actual one is too…stiff."

I tried to ignore the not-so-underhanded insult to my name. "What about JJ? Why doesn't she get one?"

"JJ _is _the nickname, Hale. C'mon, don't make me retract the whole statement about you being smart."

"Alright, go on, give me the nickname," I sighed, putting on a pair of glasses to shield my eyes. He paused, analyzing me. "Come on, _Morgan_, give me a nickname and we'll move on with it."

"Is Red too generic?"

"My hair is too dark to be classified as red," I argued. "I prefer the term auburn. Or brown with a bit of pizzazz."

"Your hair is red, Hale. Maybe a bit of a toned down, angry version of it, but still, red. Don't deny it," Morgan said. "In fact, I'd embrace it. Do you know how many guys would love to know what a redhead's like in—." I guess something changed on my face when he said that, because suddenly he changed tracks. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have gone down that road."

"Don't worry about it, Morgan. I have the same ability that Emily has, the whole compartmentalization thing. I'm a-okay."

"Well, in that case," he continued, "I'm thinking…foxy?"

"I'd highly recommend _never _using that name," I said, testing out the weight of the paintball gun in my hand and glancing up at my coworker. I could see where he got his ballsy confidence from. He was attractive, that's for sure. Dark skin, hair shaved off to precision, and I had to admit, his body was even better than Jason's, and I had prided myself on being able to snag a United States Marine like him. Derek had dark, dark eyes, and it was my guess that he was really good at getting traumatized victims to like him and trust him. And here I was, playing into his flirtations. I'd heard him and Garcia, and I had a feeling our fraternization would never quite get to that level, but still, the casual chitchat was calming.

"You said you prefer the term _auburn_," Morgan said, grabbing the gun out of my hand and twirling it in his capable hands.

I studied him, and reiterated, "Or brown with a bit of—"

"Pizzazz. Yeah, I heard," he laughed. "Hm," he continued, pondering. "Auburn. Like the university."

"Um, no. Like the color," I corrected, wondering where on earth he could be going with this.

"We could go for Tiger," Derek said. When I just stared at him as if he were from some other planet, he added, "That's their mascot, in case you were wondering. The Auburn Tigers."

"I made that connection on my own, Derek," I said. "My brother played college soccer and my dad was obsessed with college sports. I myself went to college. I know my teams. I'm just—"

"So you'll know that the name of their mascot is Aubie," he interrupted. "Aubie the Tiger."

"Well I can't say I knew the exact name of the mascot—"

"Cool," he said, grinning as he handed the gun back to me. "So you won't mind if I call you Aubie?"

"Hey!"

"Or Tiger."

"Derek!"

"Maybe both," he considered, shooting me a sly grin, and when I moved to slap his arm Hotch decided it'd be a great time to walk into the room.

"Is there a problem?" he asked, quickly grabbing a vest and putting on protective eyewear.

"No, sir," Derek said, grinning. "I'll see you around. Hale."

"You as well. Morgan."

Derek walked out, and I waited for Hotch to get his gun. "Getting to know your coworkers, Hale?" he asked as monotonously as he always spoke.

I thought a moment before I spoke. "As best as I can, Hotch," I replied.

He gave a slight grin. "Morgan's a good agent, and he is fiercely loyal. He will have your back no matter what. You just have to deal with his antics along the way."

"He's funny," I said. "Reminds me of college."

"You had guys like Morgan at Yale?" he asked.

"More than you could count. Except they were much less intelligent, believe it or not. And they dressed better."

He cracked a grin and opened the door to the training facility, beckoning for me to go in. I did, and immediately found myself in front of a mock home. The lights were dim. "Alright," Hotch said. "We're going to try an offensive invasion approach. We're going in loud and proud, because these particular unsubs know we're coming and need to be intimidated. You're leading this one. Show me what you'd do if this was just me and you, and there were real lives at stake." I nodded, grasping the paintball gun in my hand. "Let's go."

I held my gun out and walked up to the door. "FBI!" I yelled. "Open up!"

"Good," Hotch said quietly so as not to deter my focus.

I faltered when I realized my dominant leg, my left leg, was the one that was still aching from the bullet wound. I needed that leg to kick in the door. Hotch noticed my infinitesimal dilemma and moved to step forward, but I quickly switched my weight to my left leg and, wincing only slightly, thrust my right leg out to bust in the door. It sufficed. Hotch looked at me, impressed, and then I moved forward to infiltrate the home.

I checked the first room, a makeshift living room. "Clear!" I exclaimed.

Hotch checked the next one, the dining room. "Clear!" he shouted.

All of a sudden, a board with a target popped out in front of me. On it was a picture of a man with a gun pointed at me. I fired the paintball gun, satisfied as a yellow splatter appeared directly in his forehead. I turned to find Hotch behind me, looking at the shot I'd made. A board popped up right behind him, the head of the cardboard unsub directly above Hotch's right shoulder. I didn't hesitate. Hotch didn't even blink as the paint bullet flew right past his ear and exploded on the unsub's face, directly in the forehead yet again.

"You could've hit me," he said. "That was a close shot."

"And I'm a good shot," I said, offering a smile. "You have nothing to fear."

He walked over to a wall and flipped a switch. The lights went on in the house and the cardboard unsubs went back down to their hiding spots. "What did I do wrong?" I asked.

"Nothing," he said. "Except for the fact that taking a shot like that in a real life scenario could have opposite results."

"Technically, I just saved your life," I said. "That particular cardboard unsub has a knife in his right hand. When it popped up, that knife was pointed right at your back. He would have skewered you if I hadn't taken the headshot. It was a risk that I deemed necessary to take."

"A tactical decision," Hotch said after a moment. "Clearly thought out, without bias. I'll take it."

"Tactics was my second favorite part of training at the Academy," I said. "I remember everything from my training. Formations, infiltrations…you name it, I learned it."

"And what was your first favorite part?"

"I already told you. Evasive training. I can't tell you how many times I did tuck and rolls out of a fake window. It's probably the only reason I survived jumping out of that guy's car before."

Hotch looked at me for a moment. "We'll go a couple more rounds in here," he finally said. "Once I deem you fit here, we'll move to the firing range. Then you'll be clear and I will gladly hand over your badge and credentials."

"We've been talking about those things for a while now," I said. "It's about time I actually get to carry them."

"Well, Hale, I'm sure you know you've got to earn them first," Hotch said, reaching over and flipping the switch back on.

I tightened my hold on the gun in my hand. "Well, I've been waiting two weeks to do this. Let's get this done and have the badge in my hands by the end of tonight."

We underwent a few more tactical moves in the makeshift house, and then we took off our vests and put up our guns and glasses. We moved to a different section of the training center; the firing range. Hotch handed me my Glock 17 and pointed to the target, situated yards away from me. "Hit the target," was all he said.

I lifted the gun, remembering at the very last moment that Glock's didn't have safeties. I let my mind focus for a moment, and then I pulled the trigger.

A hole appeared right in the center of the target on the cutout's chest.

"Hit the right shoulder," he said. I adjusted the gun and shot again, getting another perfect shot. "The left hand." Another perfect shot. "Hit the target again." The bullet went straight through the hole I had previously made in the chest. "Headshot," Hotch finally said. I hesitated a moment as I again readjusted my aim. I took the shot.

And missed.

A hole went through the neck of the target, and I lowered my weapon. I took a deep breath and said, "Twitched. My bad." I lifted the gun again and without even paying much attention I shot it. The bullet went straight through the forehead, a clean and effortless shot.

Hotch studied me for a moment. "You're right, Hale. You are a good shot." He lifted his gun from his belt and quickly shot a bullet straight through the hole I'd made in the target's neck. "But in real life, I really need you not to twitch."

"Understood," I said.

"Alright. You pass." He dug around in his pocket and pulled out my credentials. "Here you go."

I grasped the badge and looked at it. I looked at the badge and at the ID card that had a picture of me that had been taken the first time I walked into the BAU. "Huh. If I had known that picture would be on the ID I'd have to flash in the faces of everyone I interact with outside of this office, I might've thought to at least take my hair out of that stupid ponytail."

Hotch looked at it. "Could be worse," he said. "Garcia tried to…um, what's it called…_cremp _her hair the day she got her picture taken. It looks pretty wild."

"I believe the word is crimp."

"Well, I'll take it as a sign of my masculinity that I don't know what that actually is," he said.

I just kind of shook my head. "Well, thanks," I said.

"You're welcome," Hotch replied. "Tomorrow we'll likely look over case files and create behavioral profiles for unsubs that we're not actually going to be dispatched to arrest. We don't just go in the field here, Hale. We also create profiles for unsubs all over the nation who prove dangerous to society. We only go into the field on especially significant cases."

"I figured I wouldn't be in the field every day of my life, Hotch," I said, tucking my badge and ID in my pocket.

"Well, good work today," he said. "You're just as good as your file promised. I do have one question, though. Are you ambidextrous?"

"What?" I asked thrown off guard.

"Earlier, in tactical training, you kicked in the door with your right foot. But you hesitated, as if you were making a quick decision in your head. Either you're dominant side is the left and you took a chance with the right, or you're ambidextrous and had to take a moment to decide which leg to use."

I nodded. "I expected no less from a profiler like you," I said lightly. "I'm not ambidextrous, but I trust both sides of my body to get the job done. I'm left-handed and left-footed, but I couldn't kick the door in with my left just yet. So I switched to my right."

"So, for all intents and purposes, you're ambidextrous."

"I favor the left side of my body, but yes, I'm capable with both."

"Well, that's good to know. Could be pretty useful."

"Yeah. Well, it's getting kind of late, and I really should talk to Emily about this new living arrangement."

"Of course. I'll see you tomorrow, Hale."

I nodded and turned away from him, unloading the gun and putting it in my belt. I pulled my jacket on over my head, smiling as I felt the weight of my FBI credentials in my pocket, and walked out.

**Nothing too exciting this chapter. More action to come soon. Thanks for reading, feel free to Favorite, Follow, Comment... ~ Lacey :)**


	16. CHAPTER 16: A Spillage of Secrets (Hale)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN: A SPILLAGE OF SECRETS (HALE)

I met Emily in the parking garage in the BAU. She had pulled her car up next to mine and was standing outside of it, looking at her phone. She looked up as I walked towards her. I was surprised she could hear me. I had to forgo my attraction to pretty stilettos for the time being, as my leg wasn't yet strong enough to put on heels. She looked at me and gave me a grin.

"Thank you for letting me stay with you until I can find a place," I said before she could get a word in. "It's so helpful, you have no idea."

"It's no trouble at all, really," she said. "Truthfully, it'll be nice not living alone. And Sergio loves having little Carrot to play with."

I nodded. "Carrot loves other cats. The couple who lived in the apartment across from us would come over and bring their cat, Billy. They would literally play for hours. Jason would complain and try to somehow tell them to shut up, and I'd just laugh at him and tell him to leave them alone, they were just like kids having fun…." I was stuck in the past for a moment, unwilling to leave. Then I sighed. "I'm sorry. I mean, I just left him like a week or two ago, it's still all fresh in my mind. But at the same time…it feels right. Is that weird?"

"No," Emily said. "It feels right because it _is_ right. Sometimes, people aren't meant to be together."

"I know," I sighed. "I just needed to hear someone say it. So thanks."

"Of course," she said. "So, you ready to head out?"

"Sure thing," I said.

"You can tail me," she said, and then a grin twitched on her mouth as she said, "Aubie."

"No!" I exclaimed. "He already told you? Oh my God, he's so…."

"Morgan," Emily finished with a laugh. "Don't worry about it. I mean, at least you didn't get _princess_."

I groaned. "Aubie. He's out of his mind."

"Aw, don't sweat it, Tiger."

"Hey!" I exclaimed, grinning.

"Ha!" she finally exclaimed. Suddenly she looked behind me, and then did a fist pump. "Yes, there are security tapes in here! I'll have proof!"

"What in the world is going on?" I asked.

"The team made a bet on who could make you smile first!" Emily laughed. "I won!"

I stood at her, staring. Was this some cruel joke? Some high school prank gone wrong and coming to haunt me ten years later? "So…talking with me, being nice to me…was it just to win some bet?"

"What?" Emily said, realizing what she'd said. "Oh, God. No Nat, you're such a great person, we just wanted to make you smile—"

"Morgan too," I said. "He just wanted to win a bet?"

"Nat, I'm so sorry, we just knew you were going through a hard time, and we thought you just needed some cheering up. The bet was just a way of trying to make you smile." I looked at her face and saw the apology in her eyes. And as a profiler, I knew she really was sorry, and that I had majorly overreacted.

I sighed. "It's alright. I know you meant well. But it's possible that I'm just…not ready to be all smiley all the time yet. Is that alright?"

Emily rubbed my shoulder comfortingly and nodded. "Of course it is. I'm sure I don't speak just for myself when I say that we're sorry for…seemingly taking advantage of your trauma."

"I know that's not how you guys intended it, so don't worry," I said. "I shouldn't have snapped at you like that. We're a team now, not just some acquaintance I can yell at whenever I feel like. I'll keep it in check."

Emily nodded. "Hey, before we leave…have you heard from your brother? How's Emma?"

"They're all still very…shocked. They're just trying to deal with it. Dan…Dan's getting a therapist for Emma. Jarrod never actually did anything to her physically, but the psychological effects of being held captive by the man who killed her mother have been…bad."

"How bad?" Emily asked, concerned.

"Nightmares every night," I said with a sigh. "She wakes up screaming. The funeral was the worst though. She didn't even cry very loudly at all. They were these silent tears. They were pouring down her face, like a torrential downfall of tears, but she didn't make one single noise."

"The poor baby," Emily said, looking heartbroken.

I looked at her, and I knew I just needed to talk, and I knew Emily would listen. "He kept her in a closet the whole time, tied up. He dumped his dirty clothes in the room when he changed that night, that's why his pants were in there. Apparently he was very verbal with her, screaming and yelling things. The one time she managed to call was one of the only times he wasn't screaming hysterically at her. She's just…shocked. She's only four. Dylan doesn't even know…and he never will. He'll never know his mother."

"It's not fair," Emily said.

"It never will be," I sighed. "But maybe it's better that…if it had to happen, that it happened when they were young. Maybe, someday in the future, Dan can heal. Maybe he'll find someone who can love them the way Rachel did. I mean, I know it won't happen soon, and God, I don't want anyone to feel like I think Rachel can be replaced. I just want…I want someone there for them. Because I can't be there, you know?."

Emily placed her hands lightly on my shoulders. "Nat, you'd be surprised how much you can be with them even though you're hundreds of miles away. Just calling them and talking to them…they'll know you're with them."

I looked at Emily, and then I grinned. "You're one hell of a lot better at making someone feel better than Morgan."

"Oh, trust me, he's better," she said. "If he wasn't able to make you feel better than I have, he must have been thoroughly distracted by something else. He's good at getting people to like him."

"Maybe I could see through the thick layer of ego he radiates," I said jokingly. "But he did get my mind off of things for a while."

"Everyone wants to help you. And in case you were wondering, everyone is good with adding you to the BAU family. Garcia had some qualms, and Rossi's always cautious, but after what you did in North Dakota I don't think anyone can doubt your abilities as a profiler, as an agent, as a person…." Emily gave my shoulder a squeeze. "And now, you and your awesome abilities need to come to my house and go to sleep. Plus, Carrot needs fed."

"You're right," I said. "I'll follow you."

* * *

We each got into our cars and I followed her to her apartment in D.C. It was a decent apartment, and as I carried my suitcase up the stairs to her door I heard something shatter inside of her apartment. Both Emily and I immediately reached for our guns, and my heart started pounding uncontrollably. I dropped my suitcase where it was and pulled my Glock out. Quickly, Emily and I looked at each other, and after a moment of unspoken communication, she threw her door open and we barged inside.

A plate lay on the floor in pieces, with two guilty looking cats poking their noses at it.

Emily burst out laughing as she put her gun away. "Serg!" she exclaimed. "I bet it was you!"

As she walked over to start picking up shards of glass, I exhaled slowly and lowered my gun. I wasn't as ready to lower my weapon as she was. After a moment of looking about for any other sign of a break in, and finding none, I finally put my gun back in my belt and picked Carrot up. "I bet it was this troublemaker. Don't blame Serg. I'll get you a new plate."

"Don't be stupid, Nat, I've got too many plates already for someone who lives alone. I think it's because secretly I don't like doing dishes every day, so I enjoy having enough to stack up and then I do them all every two weeks."

"You literally could be related to my brother," I said, bending down to help her with the shards.

She grinned. "My mom always hated that about me. The whole tomboy thing. I mean, as far as tomboys go, I wasn't the biggest one. I still liked dolls and stuff. But I was always hellbent on making things messy for her."

"Yep. You're definitely related to my brother. He even fits the doll part of that, if you count action figures."

"Everyone has their dirty little secrets," Emily said, picking up the last of the glass pieces and tossing them in the garbage.

"I suppose."

"Oh, c'mon, Nat. I pretty much just opened the door for you to tell me yours," Emily said with a wink.

"Oh, trust me, I've got nothing special."

"Sure you do," Emily laughed, almost bitterly. "You're joining the BAU. Everyone's got their damage."

"You know all my damage," I said. "Crazy foster family, world's unluckiest actual family…I mean, as far as my track record goes, you guys are probably all screwed if you actually start enjoying my company and considering me part of your family."

Emily shook her head. "We're the safest, smartest, funniest, most loyal family you'll ever meet." She opened up a cabinet and pulled out a bottle of liquor. I started objecting once she pulled out two shot glasses. "Oh, quit your whining," she said. "You've gone through hell, and your predicament is reminding me of a time in my life where I wish someone had just offered me a shot of tequila."

I glanced at her, and then sighed. "I will regret this."

"You haven't really lived until you've said those words, Nat," Prentiss said, pouring two shots and lifting her drink.

I tapped my glass to hers. "To pure, unadulterated stupidity," I said before tipping the drink back into my mouth. The alcohol burned down my throat and fizzled in my stomach. I looked up and saw Emily pouring another. "Remember, we need to wake up in the morning," I cautioned.

"That's what alarms are for," she replied. "C'mon, the night is young, and we all want to forget."

* * *

Two hours and God knows how many shots later, and we were absolutely smashed. And as a result, we were pouring our souls out to each other.

"His name was Ian Doyle," she sighed, dipping her finger into her refilled shot glass and tasting the liquor that dripped from her finger. "He was my mission when I worked with the CIA. He escaped from prison and came back for revenge because he thought I was responsible for his son's death, the son that I had actually saved. I had to abandon the team and go rogue for a day or two…Doyle and I fought it out, and we each got in some good shots. He won that particular round, though. Shoved the leg of a table through my stomach."

"Oh my God," I whispered. I was a dramatic, emotional drunk. It wouldn't have been my first choice of drunk-types, but it was who I was. "How are you sitting here in front of me?"

"My team found me," she said. "Hotch and JJ faked my death, because Doyle escaped and was still out to get me. It really sucked…everyone thought I was dead, and I couldn't do a thing about it. Reid was especially torn up when Doyle was finally out of the picture and I was able to come back home."

"You weren't kidding when you said everyone has damage," I said. "I mean I thought _I _had it bad."

"You do," Emily said, laughing. "I don't know if you've checked, but you're life really sucks right now."

"I know, right?" I exclaimed. "I mean, God, I was really in a good place a couple weeks ago. It'd been so long since anything really bad had ever happened to me. I thought the worst was over and the best was yet to come, you know? And now I've lost so much. Rachel, my old life, my old dreams…hell, I even miss Jason, and the last time I saw him he shoved me to the ground and stormed out of our apartment."

"He shoved you down when you were on crutches?" she asked, shocked. I nodded. "Bastard," she said.

"That's exactly what Hotch called him," I recalled. "And I guess sometimes he acts like a dick, but there are other times when he is the sweetest man and he makes me fall in love with him over and over again. Oh, God, I'm hopeless."

"Nope. You're a woman. And women are made absolute fools because of men." Emily tipped the rest of the shot back into her mouth and I poured myself another. "So, you seem to have gotten into Hotch's good graces pretty quickly."

"Yeah, by no fault of mine," I laughed. "He practically forced all my deep dark secrets out of me, and he shoved this job on me while I was lying in the middle of a street bleeding out from a gunshot wound."

"Eh, he cares about you. You've won his trust in two weeks. Trust me, that's a first."

"I guess I'm just naturally trustworthy," I offered, tossing the contents of the shot glass down my throat and then sighing. "We should really stop. I'll end up spilling more than just my secrets."

"You're right," Emily sighed. She tied her hair into a knot at the back of her hair and motioned for me to follow her with her finger. I did, stumbling a little along the way. I nearly tripped over Carrot as I made my way up the stairs. Emily pointed to the first room on the left. "Here's your room," she said. "I'm the second door to the right. We need to be in the office by seven, so I'd set multiple alarms if I were you."

"We're so irresponsible," I groaned. "Hotch will kill me, and I haven't even been here long."

"Don't worry, I have the perfect cure for a hangover. You'll see."

"All I want to see is the inside of my eyelids."

"Go to bed, Nat," Emily said. "Even to my acute ears you're all slurred."

"G'night, Em," I said. "You've been so nice to me."

"It's just what I do," she said with a laugh, and then walked off towards her room.

* * *

I woke up to the sound of pure hell.

_BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!_

I slammed my hand onto the alarm, hoping that by some stroke of luck I'd hit the snooze button. Or even better, maybe I'd just destroy the damn thing. Whatever I did, the beeping stopped, and for just a moment, the sound of hell was gone.

_So I put my hands up, they're playing my song, the butterfly-fly away! Noddin' my head like yeah, movin' my hips like yeah!_

"WHAT THE HELL?" I screamed. I slammed my hand back on the alarm, wondering in what universe did God think it was funny to replace incessant beeping with the sound of Miley Cyrus' voice. I mean, sure, I was guilty of jamming to teeny-bopper music on my own time, but not at five thirty in the morning with a hangover that felt like it was about to split my head in two.

Hitting the damn alarm did nothing. The music kept playing, and it was getting louder. "EMILY FREAKING PRENTISS? WHAT THE HELL?" I yelled at the top of my lungs, and then moaned pitifully as rockets of pain shot off behind my eyes.

Suddenly, my door flew open and Emily walked in. She walked over to my window and threw the curtains aside, letting the sun blind me. I let out what I can only describe as a shriek disguised as a moan as I instinctually moved my body away from the light, which resulted with me crashing onto the floor in a tangle of aching bones and blue cotton sheets.

Emily let out a peal of laughter. "Up and at em, roomie."

"I don't understand," I cried. "I don't remember…."

"Well, for starters, you and I got absolutely shitfaced last night."

"Ugh," I moaned.

"Have no fear, Nat," she said. "I told you, I have a killer cure for hangovers."

"I'm guessing this killer cure involves blasting teenage pop hits."

"Hey, it's proven to work."

"I can assure you that I do not feel cured," I groaned. I tried to get myself up and Emily lent a hand.

"You will soon. Maybe. Now go take a shower, and switch between cold and warm. Lather, rinse, repeat, so forth."

"Yes, mother," I mocked, stumbling my way into the bathroom and turning on the shower.

I stayed in the shower for twenty minutes, using Emily's rose scented body wash and coconut-vanilla shampoo and conditioner. I walked out feeling only slightly better, my head still reeling. I was so stupid. I was going to walk into the freaking FBI with the world's worst hangover and there was nothing I could do about it.

I walked out of the bathroom, realizing I had forgotten my shirt. I had pulled on underwear, black slacks, and a pink lacy bra. I sifted through my suitcase for a nice shirt and picked out a mint green one. I was buttoning up past my bra as I walked into the kitchen and Emily turned to me.

"God, Nat, you buttoned the wrong buttons," she laughed, some concoction in her hand. "But I like the green."

I looked down and zeroed in on my shirt. The buttons were misaligned, and the whole shirt was screwed up. "Ugh, is this real life?"

"I'm afraid so."

I groaned and started to rebutton my shirt properly. "The shower didn't help," I groaned.

"Here, drink this," Emily said, handing me the drink in her hand. I sniffed it cautiously, and almost choked. "Trust me, it'll help."

"What the hell is this?" I muttered.

"It's a Bloody Mary, with a kick."

"Isn't vodka already a kick? And wouldn't it be kind of pointless to drink more alcohol if I'm suffering from the effects of drinking too much of it?"

"Oh, Nat. You haven't gotten drunk many times in your life, have you?" Emily asked, putting her hands on her hips.

"I had a few wild days in high school, but I've been on the straight and narrow since my time in the system. Why?"

"Have you ever heard the phrase _a hair from the dog that bit you_?"

"Huh?"

"Sometimes, a little bit of something that's hurting you is just what you need to fix you. Just trust me on this."

"So if you're already giving me alcohol…what's the kick?"

"Don't ask," Emily said, gesturing for me to take a sip. "Just drink it, okay? Trust me."

"If I puke, I'm taking it as a sign that I need to resign," I said. I took one last glance at Emily, who continued to silently urge me to drink the horrible smelling beverage in my hand. I took one deep, rattling breath, and then choked down a sip.

For a moment, it tasted like a regular old Bloody Mary, which on even a normal day I wasn't too fond of. But after a moment of feeling it slide down my throat, I began to experience an aftertaste that made all of the acids in my stomach churn unhappily. With all my willpower, I forced it down and gasped. "What is this juice from hell?" I spluttered.

"It's a Bloody Mary," she said.

"With?" I prodded.

"With pickle juice."

"What?!"

"The first time I ever got drunk, ever, a friend of mine told me that drinking pickle juice would help. But then my current boyfriend swore on his life that a Bloody Mary would do the trick. At the time, I trusted both of them with my life, and I didn't think I was going to ever get that drunk again to give me the opportunity to try both. So I just mixed them together. It'll fix you up, I swear. You just keep drinking."

After ten interminable minutes, I finally finished the glass and tossed it into her sink. "That was the most disgusting thing I've ever had in my entire life."

"We need to head out," Emily said. "We're going to be late if we don't leave now."

"When is this going to kick in?" I asked, grabbing my badge and gun and following her out the door.

"Well," Emily replied, glancing at her watch, "for your sake, I'm hoping somewhere in between here and the BAU."

**Sorry it's been so long since the update. My life has gotten pretty busy all of a sudden. This was a bit of a boring chapter, but trust me, more danger and drama coming soon! Comment, Favorite, Follow! ~ Lacey :)**


	17. CHAPTER 17: A New Case (Hotch)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: A NEW CASE (HOTCH)

When I got into the office the next morning, the first thing I noticed was Prentiss and Hale sitting at their desks, which were adjacent to each other, both wearing matching expressions of discomfort. Hale kept running her fingers through her hair and Prentiss gnawed absentmindedly on her fingernails, a common nervous habit of hers. When I walked by, they both jumped and immediately started flipping through files.

"Everything alright?" I asked as I passed them.

"Yeah, Hotch," Prentiss said. "We just had a long night. Don't worry about it."

I immediately translated the subliminal message and glanced at Hale. "Bloody Mary and pickle juice?" I asked.

She looked up at me, the blue-gray of her eyes widening slightly in surprise. "How did you—"

"If it hasn't kicked in yet, it will," I said. I watched her expression grow even more shocked as I walked away to my office. I grinned as I shut the door.

Thirty minutes later there was a knock on my door. "Come in."

JJ poked her head into the room. "We've got a case," she said.

"On my way," I said, putting the file in my hands down and following her towards the briefing room.

Once the team was seated in the room, JJ stood up and started passing around files. "We have four bodies in Salt Lake City, Utah. All are single women in their early to mid-thirties with dark hair and brown eyes, all employed with full-time jobs that involve frequent travel."

"He has a type," Morgan stated, studying the pictures of the victims posted on their whiteboard. "A very specific type."

"Each of these women were killed by blunt force trauma to the head, but not before multiple lacerations were made all over their bodies. If the unsub hadn't bashed their skulls in, they would've bled to death anyway. There have been no signs of sexual assault."

"What about the dumpsites, JJ?" Reid asked.

"They were all found in their homes," she replied. "Their houses and, in one victim's case, apartment, were found to have been forcibly entered."

"This unsub is scared of confrontation," Hale said, studying the pictures in her file once more before moving to the page about their homes. "Murders as organized as these suggest premeditation, and judging by the information about their occupations, the unsub had to have been stalking them to know when they'd be home. It would have been easier to grab them outside of their home, but he was scared of the possibility of having to do anymore interaction than the actual killing. So he found a way to kill them in the privacy of their own homes in order to avoid as much contact as possible." She continued staring at the pictures. "It's sick."

I nodded, impressed by her quick analysis of the unsub and surprised by the emergence of her innocence, which had yet to be destroyed even after so much pain in her life. I wondered fleetingly if working for the BAU would rob her of that, or if it was something that was so integral to her personality that it just would never leave her. "We can talk more on the jet. Wheels up in thirty."

* * *

The ride on the jet felt short. Hale was surprisingly helpful in the preliminary profile building, and by the time the jet landed in Salt Lake City we had gathered a lot of information on our unsub. White male, early thirties, who was scared of interacting with lots of people, which could have been indicative of an abusive or neglectful maternal figure growing up. It was obvious that his victims were surrogates for a real life target, as he followed a highly specific type, but we had yet to discover who the real target was. The murders were becoming more frequent, and in the pattern of his escalation he was set to strike again that night. We needed to figure out a way into this guy's head, more so than we already had.

We walked into the Salt Lake City Police Department and spoke with the detective who had been leading the case, a man named Martin Wake. JJ walked up to him and shook his hand. "Good morning, detective, I'm Agent Jennifer Jareau. You spoke to me on the phone?"

"Yes, I remember. Welcome to Salt Lake City…kind of."

"We understand," she said. "This is my team. Unit chief Aaron Hotchner, and Supervisory Special Agents David Rossi, Emily Prentiss, Derek Morgan, Natalie Hale, and Dr. Spencer Reid. We're going to do everything we can to help catch this killer."

"I hope so," Wake said. "I promised the last victim's brother that I'd find that son of a bitch and put him away for a long time."

"And we're going to make sure that happens," JJ said. "Hotch, care to take over?"

I walked up and shook Wake's hand. "Agent Hotchner," I said quickly. "Do you have an area my team can set up in?"

"Yeah, we've got an area sectioned off for you. Follow me."

He led us to a room that was supplied with two large tables, enough chairs for all of us, a small foldout table specifically designed to hold coffee, and a large whiteboard. "Thank you," I said. "We'll get back to you when we know our game plan." Wake nodded and walked out of the room. "Prentiss, Rossi, go check out the last crime scene. JJ, I need you to work with Garcia and see if there is any connection between our victims besides their physical appearances and their jobs. And look harder into the occupational similarities, I need to know everything about what they do. Hale, Morgan, go talk to the family members of the victim, ask them if anything out of the ordinary's been going on. Do a cognitive if you need to. Reid, you're with me. We're going to stay here to figure out what's going on."

I watched as Morgan grinned. "You're with me, Tiger," he said victoriously, putting one arm around Hale and using the other to ruffle her hair.

"Fantastic," she grumbled, hastily trying to smooth her hair back down.

"Tiger?" Reid asked.

"Or Aubie. I'm at liberty to call her whichever I want," Morgan said. I held back a grin as Hale groaned and began to twirl her hair, something she was prone to do when feeling stressed, overwhelmed, or on the spot.

"Aubie? Tiger?" Rossi asked. "You go to Auburn or something, Hale?"

"You'd think so, wouldn't you," she mumbled. "C'mon, Morgan, let's go talk to grieving people. Try not to act so…you."

They walked away, still bickering. "She might give Garcia a run for her money in the Derek Morgan department," Prentiss laughed. "Although he and Nat are just going at each other like siblings while he and Garcia are much more...salacious."

"Well, he takes well to attractive women," Reid said. "And seeing as, by society's standards, Hale is an attractive woman, it only makes sense that he try to gain her interest by…why are you guys looking at me like that?"

"Do _you_ find her to be an attractive woman, Reid?" JJ laughed.

Reid blushed bright red. "No! Well, I mean, yes, but no, but…I hate all of you."

We all laughed at his plight, and then I tossed a file to Reid. "Alright, enough messing around. I need you to look over these files of all the victims, Reid. The rest of you, get going. We have a serial killer to find."

**Gracias for reading! I'll keep posting as often as possible. Follow, Comment, Favorite...let me know if you're liking this story! I have quite a few more chapters pre-written already for this story, and I'm just curious as to if everyone is interested in me continuing or not. Thank you! ~ Lacey :)**


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